UC-NRLF 


13 


SEEN 


SADDLE 

ISA  CflRRlNGTOM  CABELL 


11 
HARPER'S 

BLACK  &WHITE 

SERIES 


GIFT  OF 
THOMA?  RUTHERFORD  BACON 


2lY.,%, 

^ssr'3      '-        -•          '  ."   r  ••'»»••.-     ...  -; 


IN    THE   SADDLE 


SEEN    FROM  THE   SADDLE 


BY 
ISA   CARRINGTON    CABELL 

WITH   INTRODUCTION   BY 

CHARLES  DUDLEY  WARNER 


NEW  YORK 
HARPER  &  BROTHERS  PUBLISHERS 


1893 


OTHER  VOLUMES  IN 

Harper's  "Black  and  White  "Series. 

Illustrated.    321110,  Cloth,  50  cents  each. 

A  FAMILY  CANOE  TRIP.  By  FLORENCE  WAITERS 
SNEDEKER. 

A  LITTLE  SWISS  SOJOURN.  By  WILLIAM  DEAN 
HOWELLS. 

A  LETTER  OF  INTRODUCTION.  A  Farce.  By  WILLIAM 
DEAN  HOWELLS. 

JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL.  An  Address.  By  GEORGE 
WILLIAM  CURTIS. 

IN  THE  VESTIBULE  LIMITED.  By  BRANDER  MAT 
THEWS. 

THE  ALBANY  DEPOT.  A  Farce.  By  WILLIAM  DEAN 
HOWELLS. 

PUBLISHED  BY  HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  NEW  YORK. 

For  sale  by  cJl  booksellers,  or  will  be  sent  by  the  publishers, 
postage  prepmd,  on  receipt  of  price. 


Copyright,  1892,  by  HARPER  &  BROTHERS. 
All  rights  reserved. 


TO 

S.  L.  W. 


269505 


INTRODUCTION 

IT  is  one  of  our  modern  notions  that  almost 
everything  in  life  depends  upon  our  point  of  view, 
and  the  artists  of  the  pen  and  the  brush  are  wan 
dering  round  in  search  of  the  proper  point.  Our 
ancestors,  not  many  generations  ago,  used  to  see 
the  world  mainly  from  the  saddle,  and  it  cannot 
be  doubted  that  their  view  of  it  was  virile,  and, 
on  the  whole,  cheerful.  We  know,  as  a  matter 
of  fact,  that  the  world  is  instantly  changed  when 
one  mounts  a  horse.  The  rider  is  in  a  state  to 
make  an  image  of  it  different  from  that  formed 
by  the  footpad,  or  the  traveller  by  rail.  Perhaps 
he  shares  the  spirit  of  the  horse,  perhaps  his  ela 
tion  is  due  to  his  slight  elevation  above  the  earth, 
perhaps  he  is  affected  by  the  uncertainty  which 
imparts  an  air  of  adventure  to  the  shortest  excur 
sion,  that  is  so  free  to  bend  to  the  least  whim  of 
the  rider  or  the  horse.  At  any  rate,  he  rides 
away  into  a  novel  world,  either  in  the  freshness  of 
a  spring  morning  or  the  poetic  light  of  a  summer 
evening,  when  the  apple-trees  are  in  blossom  or 


the  corn  is  hanging  out  its  silken  tassels,  and  the 
most  familiar  roads  and  by  -  ways  are  created 
anew  for  him.  It  happens,  also,  that  the  fatigue 
of  the  exercise  does  not  extend  to  the  brain  as  it 
does  in  walking,  and  the  point  of  view  of  the  rider 
is  apt  to  be  wholesome  and  hopeful. 

What  the  world  is  seen  from  the  top  of  a  bi 
cycle  we  have  yet  to  learn,  for  the  riders  of  those 
wheels  of  modern  progress  are  too  much  occupied 
by  their  own  equilibrium  and  appearance  and 
speed  to  pay  much  attention  to  the  sentiments 
that  Nature  suggests  to  her  loving  observers.  In 
these  witty  and  sympathetic  studies  of  a  New 
England  summer  we  return  again  to  the  compan 
ionship  of  a  very  noble  animal,  with  whom  is  con 
nected  whatever  is  most  romantic  in  the  history 
of  our  race,  and  who  has  been  the  sharer  and  in- 
spirer  of  much  of  our  noblest  poetry  and  achieve 
ment.  Perhaps  when  steam  and  electricity  have 
entirely  relieved  him  of  the  degradation  of  ignoble 
labors,  he  may  become  exclusively  the  comrade 
of  our  hours  of  ease  and  pleasure,  and  young 
women  and  young  men  will  find  health  in  his 
society,  and  learn  that  on  his  back  they  can  any 
hour  ride  away  from  habits  of  morbid  introspec 
tion  into  a  cheerful  world. 

C.  D.W. 


SEEN   FROM  THE  SADDLE 


OLLY  the  mare  has  been  trained 
by  a  girl.  The  girl  is  at  college 
building  on  her  high -school 
foundation,  and  has  probably 
got  over  all  the  freakish  fem 
inine  ways  she  taught  Dolly,  and  sobered 
down  into  a  disciplined  character.  A  disci 
plined  character  is  produced  by  a  college 
education.  But  Dolly  has  not  left  off  a 
single  womanish  wile  since  her  mistress  bade 
her  good-bye  last  September.  She  has  a  little 
brown  head  which  she  twists  and  turns  as  if 
she  were  looking  in  a  mirror,  and  she  thinks 
it  clever  to  prance  and  caper  when  she  is 
mounted.  When  she  hears  a  step  behind 
her,  like  the  girl  in  Mrs.  Browning's  pretty 
poem,  she  pricks  up  her  ears  and  runs. 


Gretchen,  Dolly's  mistress,  has  a  friend 
who  teaches  in  a  horse  kindergarten,  and 
he  says  if  he  had  had  the  educating  of  the 
mare  this  would  be  a  very  different  story. 
His  colts  get  up  to  an  early  breakfast,  take 
a  warm  bath  before  eating  it,  and  then  ex 
ercise  according  to  the  best  hygienic  meth 
ods.  Not  the  sound  of  a  whip  or  a  cross 
word  is  heard  in  all  the  great  stock  farm, 
where  hundreds  of  horses  are  reared ;  but 
when  one  of  them  is  disobedient  or  frisky, 
the  trainer  takes  him  up  to  the  printed  rules 
that  are  pasted  on  the  stable  wall  and  bids 
him  look  at  them.  That  one  action,  full  of 
dignified  sorrow,  breaks  the  colt's  heart. 
He  turns  away  crimson  with  mortification, 
and  never  jumps  or  runs  out  of  time  again. 
But  Dolly  cannot  read.  Teach  her  ?  It  is 
too  late.  You  must  teach  a  colt  to  read  the 
hour  it  is  born.  If  you  begin  later  it  is  a 
useless  task.  When,  then,  are  we  to  start 
with  our  children  ?  Start  ?  Have  we  not 
been  told  to  begin  by  educating  their  an 
cestors,  and  are  not  their  ancestors  hard  at 
it  in  literature  classes  and  language  classes 
and  whist  classes,  for  the  sake  of  posterity? 
Dolly  and  the  bay  and  their  riders  started 


out  the  other  morning  with  a  gayety  of 
spirit  and  a  youthfulness  of  body  they  have 
learned  to  know  do  not  come  with  a  good 
conscience  but  by  living  under  a  friendly 
sky.  They  were  just  as  good  and  almost 
as  young  during  all  that  terrible  rainy  spell 
last  week,  and  they  felt  old  and  wretched. 
And  there  are  philosophers  who  tell  us  we 
are  responsible  for  our  mental  and  moral 
attitudes !  The  wind  was  blowing,  but  it 
blew  as  if  it  loved  them,  and  the  sunshine 
showered  down  softly  through  delicate  green 
leaves.  In  the  tender  blue  depths  above  the 
crows  were  sailing  lazily;  their  "caws," 
"caws"  were  the  discord  needed  to  com 
plete  the  harmony  of  the  bird  songs.  Peo 
ple  who  play  or  listen  to  Bach  will  under 
stand. 

They  started  down  Farmington  Avenue 
at  a  brisk  trot.  There  were  two  young 
ladies  on  bicycles  who  turned  out  for  them 
and  gave  them  the  courtesy  of  the  road. 
One  looked  very  pretty  in  her  blue  habit 
and  little  gold-braided  cap ;  and  she  had 
got  some  distance  up  the  avenue  before 
Dolly's  rider  recognized  her  as  the  little 
school-teacher  with  the  pale  face  and  the 


black  gown  and  straw  hat  all  too  big  for  her, 
who  goes  down-town  in  the  8.30  tram. 

"Dear!  dear!"  Dolly's  rider  exclaimed; 
"I  wish  her  young  man  could  see  her  now!" 

"Whose  young  man?  How  do  you  know 
she's  got  a  young  man  ?  If  she  has,  how 
do  you  know  it  would  be  best  for  either 
of  them  ?  Besides,  a  woman  who  rides  on 
a  bicycle  is  emancipated  and  does  not  want 
a  young  man.  She  is  pledged  to  her  work 
and  her  ambition.  She  would  not  resign  it 
to  be  a  cook  or  a  seamstress  without  wages." 
This  from  D.,  who  rides  the  bay.  Dolly's 
rider  perceived  that  he  had  been  reading 
the  Arena,  and  was  talking  with  the  zeal  of 
a  person  to  whom  this  question  is  novel 
and  interesting;  she  therefore  humored  him. 

"  Maybe  her  young  man,"  she  said,  "  is 
willing  to  relinquish  everything  for  the  love 
of  the  schoolma'am,  in  order  to  attain  to  the 
sphere  of  a  husband  and  father,  the  only 
true  and  real  life  for  any  noble  man."  This 
sentiment  had  such  a  familiar  sound  and 
such  a  reasonable  sound  that  they  had  turn 
ed  into  Sisson  Avenue  before  D.  realized 
the  neat  turn  of  the  tables.  How  many 
thousand  times  he  had  heard  it  with  com- 


placency  with  "  wife  and  mother "  substi 
tuted  for  "husband  and  father." 

"  1  am  going  to  Parkville,"  he  said.  "  I 
am  interested  in  the  growth  of  the  city ;" 
but  both  knew  that  going  to  Parkville  was 
Dolly's  doing,  not  theirs.  While  they  were 
talking  about  spheres,  she  took  her  head. 
They  trotted  down  a  long,  shadeless  street; 
the  sun  shone  hot,  there  was  a  brick  house 
at  the  end  of  the  lane  with  "cool  lager- 
beer  "  lettered  on  the  outside ;  little  ambi 
tious  houses  are  scattered  about  between 
grocery  stores ;  one  has  a  tiled  fagade,  or 
rather  the  whole  side  of  the  suburban  villa 
is  thus  decorated,  and  other  houses  are 
painted  in  glowing  colors,  all  yellow  or  all 
red,  or  shingled  in  all  the  hues  of  the  rain 
bow.  Having  once  said  he  wanted  to  see 
Parkville,  D.  stuck  to  it.  He  does  not  read 
his  Emerson  enough  to  know  that  consist 
ency  is  the  hobgoblin  of  a  small  mind,  but 
a  sudden  flash  of  memory  lighted  the  little 
suburb  with  a  vivid  interest.  "  D.,"  said 
Dolly's  rider,  "  Patrick  lives  in  Parkville." 
Now,  Patrick  is  the  hired  man,  and  they  see 
his  slim,  loose-jointed  figure  every  day  and 
regard  it  with  no  great  curiosity ;  but  that 


he  dwelt  in  one  of  those  neat  little  houses 
invested  the  whole  place  with  a  human 
interest. 

"  He  lives  in  a  white  house  with  a  porch, 
and  he  had  his  picture  taken  sitting  on  it ; 
his  little  girl  was  in  the  yard  and  his  wife 
at  the  well."  This  Dolly's  rider  repeated 
eagerly,  and  for  some  time  they  went  about 
looking  for  the  white  house  and  the  porch 
and  the  little  girl  and  the  woman  at  the 
well,  and  Patrick,  the  presiding  divinity, 
but  they  did  not  find  them.  After  they 
got  on  the  middle  Farmington  Road,  D. 
suggested  that  the  people  had  probably 
gone  into  the  house  since  the  picture  was 
taken  last  summer,  but  the  remark  came  too 
late  to  destroy  the  interest  in  Parkville. 

You  know  the  middle  road  to  Farming- 
ton,  up  hill  and  down,  with  farms  lying  on 
either  side:  the  young  grain  rows  checkered 
the  brown  fields,  the  maples  cast  long  shad 
ows  upon  the  sloping  knolls,  and  beyond 
the  acres  of  greensward  and  sunshine  were 
bounded  by  the  tenderer  green  of  the  for 
est.  Almost  all  the  way  is  shaded  by  elm 
or  maple  trees  some  pious  soul,  on  whom 
be  peace,  planted  for  the  comfort  of  the 


wayfarer;  the  houses  are  set  up  close  to 
the  road,  with  green  untrodden  yards  that 
lead  to  small  white  doors,  for  there  are  no 
paths  from  the  front  door  to  the  street  or 
road ;  people  go  in  from  the  side  entrance 
or  at  the  back,  and  these  riders  had  a  feel 
ing  that  these  closed  doors  opened  into  the 
best  room,  that  dark  and  gloomy  abode  of 
respectability.  So  uniform  is  this  custom 
of  shutting  up  the  front  of  the  house,  that 
when  they  passed  a  large  white  house  with 
the  grass  all  trodden  down,  as  if  with  the 
tramp  of  heavy  boots,  between  the  low  white 
porch  and  the  gate,  and  they  saw  that  all 
the  windows  were  up  in  the  front  room, 
they  did  not  need  Dolly's  quickened  pace 
and  little  startled  shy  to  tell  them  what  had 
happened.  Was  he  glad  to  quit  the  narrow 
bounds  of  a  New  England  countryside  for 
the  great  world  of  mystery  in  which  for  so 
many  sordid  years  his  speculative  mind  had 
dwelt — the  master  of  the  house  who  had 
been  carried  thence  but  yesterday  ?  It  did 
not  seem  an  uncheerful  place  to  live  in,  that 
sunshiny  day ;  all  the  crop  was  growing  in 
even  rows,  and  the  wide  barn  doors  were 
open  as  if  they  expected  the  hay  to  be 


brought  in ;  the  tall  green  oats  waved  in 
the  fields  under  the  breath  of  the  soft  wind  ; 
there  was  a  fragrance  of  wild  honeysuckles 
and  clover,  and  in  front  of  the  door,  almost 
overshadowing  it,  grew  a  great  apple-tree, 
white  with  blooms,  and  the  meadow  was 
canopied  with  their  wide-spreading  branch 
es.  There  is  something  in  the  perfume  and 
the  color  of  certain  flowers  or  trees  that 
affects  the  character  of  the  people  of  the 
country  they  grow  in.  The  land  of  the 
orange  flower  and  the  olive  is  the  land  of 
song,  of  indolence,  of  music,  of  sensuous 
ease.  Even  the  habitant  of  a  climate  like 
England  falls  under  the  spell,  and  in  a  grove 
of  orange-trees  is  impelled  to  write  "  Childe 
Harold  "  or  "  Don  Juan."  The  apple-tree  is 
like  the  New  England  character;  there  are 
the  gnarled  trunks,  the  deep  ruts,  the  pale, 
pure  blossoms,  with  pink  -  veined  hearts, 
shedding  pure  fragrance.  Did  anybody  ever 
write  a  poem  of  passion  under  an  apple- 
tree  ?  Only  the  look  at  it  and  the  scent  of 
it  is  a  reproof  to  passion,  and  a  call  to  con 
viction.  It  is  not  sensuous,  it  is  not  even 
dreamy  or  indolent.  It  is  penetrating,  spicy 
almost,  and  delicate  with  the  shy  sweetness 


of  the  New  England  heart.  Yes,  it  was  a 
pity  to  have  to  leave  the  world  while  the 
apple-trees  were  blossoming. 

"  We  are  sure  of  a  good  crop  of  apples  ? 
We  are  certainly  safe  from  frost  ?"  The 
hired  man  who  was  ploughing  by  the  fence 
shook  his  head. 

"  I  don't  know  as  it's  safe  till  June," 
he  said;  "and  I  don't  know  as  it's  safe 
then." 

"  Think  of  the  man  who  lived  here,  D.," 
said  Dolly's  rider.  "  Six  months  in  the  year 
with  the  road  that  leads  to  the  world  all 
buried  in  the  snow,  and  all  the  hill -side 
white  with  snow,  and  the  wind  whistling 
around  the  house,  and  he  crouched  there 
before  the  fire,  the  cold  chilling  his  bones. 
I've  been  thinking  why  all  the  cults  and 
isms  are  born  in  New  England.  For  all 
those  months  people  have  nothing  to  do 
but  to  sit  by  the  fire  and  dream,  and  specu 
late  and  evolve  queer  fancies  out  of  their 
brains.  Who  ever  heard  of  a  social  reform 
in  this  country  south  of  Baltimore  ;  was  a 
new  community,  or  an  'outcomer,'  ever  in 
digenous  to  a  hot  climate?  It's  the  same 
in  Europe ;  there  are  no  nihilists  in  Italy ; 


it  takes  the  cold  of  Russia  to  generate 
them." 

"  There  are  insurrections  in  Chile,"  said 
D.,  who  reads  the  newspapers. 

"  Oh,  but  an  insurrection  is  a  passion  not 
a  plan,  and  it  is  generally  a  revolt  against 
physical  not  spiritual  nor  intellectual  op 
pression." 

But  Dolly  started  to  run,  and  the  conver 
sation  took  a  turn.  She  ran  up  a  hill  and 
down  to  a  little  stream  where  clear  sweet 
water  splashes  over  queer-looking  gold  col 
ored  sands.  There  is  a  big  elm  at  the  deep 
part  where  the  horses  stop  to  drink,  and 
two  orioles  celebrated  their  coming,  or  the 
day,  by  sitting  on  the  fence  and  singing, 
first  a  solo  and  then  a  duet ;  the  notes  fell 
like  glittering  drops  of  silver  into  the  glid 
ing  stream  below.  A  slender  white  rose 
bush  was  growing  up  against  the  fence,  not 
climbing,  but  swaying  towards  it  as  if  for 
protection,  with  the  graces  of  youth  and  an 
inexpressible  charm  of  beauty.  It  made  the 
horseback  people  think  of  a  young  girl  in 
her  father's  house.  It  was  a  cheerful  ride, 
the  very  fields  looked  busy  with  their  early 
summer  growth.  They  hurried  along  be- 


tween  the  silver  willows  and  rustling  alders, 
and  they  looked  across  the  meadows,  where 
the  cattle  stood  in  clover,  to  the  blue  heights 
of  the  Talcott  range.  A  little  plantation  of 
soft  maples  had  just  put  out  their  blooms. 
If  a  painter  had  painted  it,  not  Mr.  Brad 
ford  Torrey  himself  could  have  told  whether 
it  was  an  autumn  or  a  spring  scene,  for  all 
the  blossoms  were  a  brilliant  red,  and  droop 
ing  over  an  old  stone  house  that  was  half- 
covered  with  a  red  vine,  looked  more  like 
October's  signal  of  warning  than  May's  flag. 
They  stopped  at  a  white  house  on  the  hill 
side  to  get  water.  An  old  man  drew  it  for 
them  from  the  well.  He  was  a  lean  old  man, 
and  he  had  a  quid  of  tobacco  in  his  cheek; 
but  he  was  glad  to  see  them,  and  he  offered 
to  go  in  the  house  for  a  glass,  speaking  de 
preciatingly  of  the  tin  dipper  which  these 
city  people  greatly  preferred. 

"  T  guess,"  he  said,  with  a  pleased  chuckle, 
"  you  don't  get  no  such  water  in  Hartford ; 
they  say  it's  terrible  bad  there."  Did  the 
draught  from  the  clear  cool  well  taste  the 
sweeter  for  the  thought  that  for  all  their  town 
meetings  and  their  church  privileges  the  city 
had  nothing  half  so  good  to  drink  ?  Dolly's 


rider  and  D.  could  afford  to  be  more  gener 
ous.  There  was  a  portly  female  form  at 
the  window — a  narrow  window,  shaded  by 
white  curtains.  "  She's  good  to  him,  D.,"said 
Dolly's  rider.  "He's  all  stained  up  with 
chewing  tobacco,  so  she  must  let  him  do  as 
he  likes." 

But  the  cheerfulest  of  rides  cannot  go  on 
forever  without  something  that  if  not  ex 
actly  pathetic  suggests  melancholy.  There 
had  been  a  high  wind  the  night  before,  and 
on  the  road  coming  home  they  saw  a  great 
willow  split  in  two,  and  one  half,  laden  with 
spring  leaves,  lay  prone  on  the  ground.  The 
heart  of  the  tree,  black  and  crumbling  as  if 
smitten  by  lightning,  was  bared  to  the  piti 
less  sunshine. 

"That's  what  it  got  for  trying  to  be 
young,"  said  D.,  grimly.  "  It  bore  the  cold 
of  winter,  the  heavy  snow,  the  icy  blast,  and 
spread  its  wide  branches  skyward,  vigorous 
and  strong.  If  it  had  been  content  to  put 
out  a  few  elderly  sprouts  to  show  it  was 
alive,  we  could  never  have  seen  that  rotten 
heart.  It  was  the  weight  of  the  young 
spring  leaves  that  broke  it  down,  not  the 
wind  or  the  weather,  but  all  its  vitality  went 


out  to  support  them.  And  in  return  they 
sapped  its  life.  Its  pride  and  its  beauty  were 
its  destruction.  Ah,  well-a-day  !" 

"Like  old  Mr.  B.  after  his  wife  died. 
Don't  you  remember  the  spruce  gait  and 
the  new  clothes  and  the  frisky  airs — and 
then,  poor  old  dear — the  paralytic  stroke  ?" 
said  Dolly's  rider. 

But  D.  protested.  "  Don't  vulgarize  my 
simile  by  applying  it ;  that's  the  fatal  prac 
ticality  which  is  the  death  of  art.  A  woman 
cannot  be  a  great  artist  because  she  always 
wants  to  utilize  things.  I  never  saw  one  of 
your  sex  who  could  let  a  flower  go  on  bloom 
ing  in  a  secluded  spot.  She  must  gather  it, 
impelled  by  a  queer  morality  that  it  would 
be  selfish  to  waste  it  on  the  wind  and  the 
leaves  and  the  grass  it  was  created  for.  If 
she  hears  a  bird  sing,  she  must  try  to  cage 
it.  When  you  do  get  your  rights  good-bye 
to  romance.  We'll  all  be  en  evidence,  every 
mine  worked  to  its  final  yield.  You'd  ban 
ish  the  dead  languages  from  the  colleges  as 
of  no  commercial  value,  and  manufacture 
sonnets  for  the  occasion  as  Mr.  Brander 
Matthews  is  teaching  the  Columbia  boys 
to  do." 


"You  shall  not  say  we  are  not  romantic; 
we  can  get  married  and  still  make  heroes  of 
our  husbands  —  if  that  does  not  imply  the 
highest  imaginative  faculty,  well,  I'd  want 
to  know !"  retorted  Dolly's  rider,  and  then 
she  gave  the  mare  the  least  little  possible 
touch  of  the  whip,  and  the  theorist  was  left 
far  behind,  as  with  the  wind  in  their  faces 
they  flew  down  the  shady  lanes  and  by  the 
open-mouthed  school-children  and  the  man 
shut  up  in  the  red  milk-cart  and  the  tram 
and  the  jolly  red  -  faced  conductor,  who 
touched  his  cap  in  a  burst  of  sympathy. 
But  when  they  got  home  Dolly's  rider  had 
to  sit  perched  upon  the  saddle  till  some 
male  person  came  to  take  her  down. 

There's  a  moral  in  this  situation. 


II 


HEY  set  out  for  Bloomfield,  but 
there  are  as  many  ways  of  going 
there  as  there  are  ways  to  go  to 
Rome,  especially  if  it  does  not 
really  greatly  matter  whether 
you  get  there  or  not ;  but  one  has  already 
taken  a  step  towards  making  a  ride  interest 
ing,  if  one  has  fixed  on  a  destination — not  but 
that  there  are  people  who  like  indefiniteness, 
who  like  to  set  out  of  a  June  morning  with 
the  world  before  them,  and  D.  is  one  of  this 
kind.  If  he  had  his  way  he  would  ride  straight 
out  of  his  own  farm-yard  into  the  bank  of  blue 
clouds  that  strives  to  bound  his  horizon ; 
he  could  follow  a  lane  that  has  no  turning, 
lose  himself  in  a  forest  of  Arden.  But  Dol 
ly's  rider  is  another  sort.  D.  says,  "  We'll 
go  somewhere,"  meaning  nowhere.  Dolly's 
rider  agrees  to  the  somewhere  and  thinks  of 
Bloomfield.  The  vagueness  which  makes  the 
charm  of  his  wanderings  gives  her  the  sensa 
tion  of  being  adrift  and  rudderless,  but  it  is  a 


t6 


pathetic  quality  of  the  female  mind  that  it 
has  learned  through  necessity  to  reverse  nat 
ure.  Dolly's  rider  with  the  strongest  inclina 
tion  to  definiteness  gratifies  it  by  a  ruse.  She 
makes  believe  she  is  going  to  do  a  thing,  and 
by  the  exercise  of  imagination,  a  faculty  D. 
denies  her,  gets  the  poor  comfort  of  being  self- 
deceived.  It  was  this  way,  therefore,  they 
set  out  for  Bloomfield,  turning  sharply  out 
of  Forest  Street  into  Hawthorne  Street, 
crossing  the  railroad  bridge  and  riding  to  the 
open,  where  they  turned  and  went  up  the  hill 
towards  Trinity  and  by  Zion  Hill  Cemetery. 

That  was  several  days  ago,  and  the  cold 
had  held  so  much  of  spring  in  its  closed  fin 
gers  that  the  leaves  had  not  burst  into 
full  foliage,  and  looking  across  the  meadows 
they  had  their  last  view  for  the  season  of 
an  unobstructed  expanse ;  the  limbs  of  the 
trees  still  defined  against  the  horizon,  and 
stretching  their  lengths  against  the  sky. 

"  Let  me  have  one  more  look  at  a  free 
country ;  I  don't  like  to  peep  out  at  the 
world  from  beneath  a  leafy  canopy,"  said  D., 
who  by  this  time  has  no  doubt  revealed  his 
very  contradictory  character,  for  he  hates 
spring  and  he  loves  summer,  yet  he  waxes 


even  sentimental  over  the  first  tender  green 
of  the  leaves,  a  feeling  in  which  Dolly's  pro 
saic  rider  shares.  Just  as  there  are  flowers 
whose  odor  is  a  key  to  closed  doors  of 
memory,  so  this  first  green  of  spring  smites 
certain  hearts.  There  is  something  in  its 
tenderness,  its  freshness,  a  sense  of  the  be 
ginning  of  life  in  its  soft  youthfulness,  that 
stirs  the  soul  and  wakes  the  immortal  long 
ing,  that  so  long  a  time  has  slumbered,  to 
bathe  ourselves  again  in  innocency. 

The  wood  which  slopes  from  the  top  of 
the  hill  to  the  river  is  a  sweet  and  sylvan 
spot  which,  as  neither  of  the  horseback 
riders  expects  to  sell  it  for  city  lots,  I  vent 
ure  to  say  is  far  from  the  haunts  of  fashion 
and  the  bustle  of  traffic.  From  this  green 
pinnacle  they  saw  the  river's  curve  and  the 
willows  that  fringe  its  banks,  and  thought 
the  turrets  of  the  red  houses  made  Hart 
ford,  from  a  distance,  look  like  Rothenburg. 
There  are  chestnuts  and  beeches  in  the 
lower  grove,  and  ferns  and  wind-flowers  grow 
luxuriantly  in  the  green  depths,  but  only  a 
few  great  oaks  shade  the  upper  part,  and  a 
field  of  buttercups  shimmers  in  the  morn 
ing's  shine  from  the  slope  of  the  hill  to  the 


1 8 


meadow  beyond.  I  wonder  why  we  cannot 
grow  sentimental  over  yellow  flowers — why 
the  color  of  yellow  is,  in  fact,  inimical  to 
sentiment.  Gold  has  its  poetical  uses — 
gates  of  gold,  streets  of  gold,  golden  harps, 
girls,  lads,  hearts,  but  the  element  of  pathos 
is  wanting.  When  the  sun  sets  it  sets  as 
often  in  yellow  as  in  purple  clouds,  but 
substitute  yellow  for  purple  in  Whittier's 
"  Psalm," 

"Till  care  and  trial  seem  at  last 
Though  memory's  sunset  air, 
Like  mountain  ranges  over  past 
In  yellow  distance  fair." 

You  have  the  idea,  but  you  have  spoiled 
the  poem.  D.  and  Dolly's  rider  saw  a  field 
of  clover  with  the  wind  blowing  over  it  one 
afternoon  in  Sicily,  last  spring,  and  as  the 
bells  bowed  to  the  breeze  and  all  that  deli 
cious,  undulating,  pink  meadow  waved  be 
fore  them,  its  beauty  smote  their  hearts  with 
a  pleasure  so  keen  that  it  was  almost  pain, 
but  they  saw  the  charming  sight  of  this 
field  of  buttercups  bathed  in  sunshine  with 
dry  eyes. 

They  didn't  see  the  grass  that  stretches 


from  field  to  field  with  unhindered  growth 
in  such  a  spirit  of  cheerful  indifference.  As 
the  breeze  blew  over  it  it  might  have  been 
a  long  succession  of  billows,  while  the  gray 
blooms  looked  like  the  crests  of  the  waves, 
and  the  clover  field  beyond  became  easily 
the  depths  of  the  farther  ocean.  Dolly's 
rider  even  said  the  birds  that  flew  over  it  or 
dipped  into  the  spray  were  sea-birds. 

"  Nay,  rather,  comrade,  let  them  be 
Like  skylarks  bold,  for  they,  said  he, 
Fly  straight  to  heaven." 

D.  quoted  from  the  Provengal  poem.  "  The 
grass  need  not  seem  like  anything  else  than 
itself  to  please  and  charm  me.  It  has  the 
natural  waving  line  of  beauty,  it  is  so  soft, 
so  silent,  so  restful  to  look  at,  and  one  has  a 
sort  of  sentiment  about  it  when  one  remem 
bers  that  what  we  have  had  all  our  lives 
beneath  our  feet  will  one  day  lie  above  us, 
while  the  proof  that  we  are  not  forgotten 
will  be  in  its  tender  green."  They  were  pass 
ing  Zion  Hill  Cemetery,  and  the  cared-for 
graves  suggested  these  thoughts,  which,  af 
ter  all,  were  not  sad  but  rather  of  a  pleasing 
melancholy. 


"When  it  comes  to  birds,"  said  Dolly's 
rider,  trotting  briskly  down  the  hill  into  the 
sunshine,  "you'd  better  look  out  for  what 
names  you  give  them.  I  was  talking  about 
hearing  orioles  sing  the  other  day,  and  some 
body  insisted  orioles  never  sang  from  the 
loth  of  May  till  the  I5th  of  August.  They 
keep  a  little  red  note-book — no,  no,  that  was 
unintentional — that  they  may  never  forget 
the  date,  and  that  ignorant  people  may  not 
confound  them  with  bobolinks,  who  are  quite 
a  different  family." 

"  Do  you  know,"  said  D.,  severely,  "  what 
all  these  scrappy  little  bits  of  information 
they  gather  from  all  sorts  of  unreliable 
sources  do  for  people?  There  is  one  1 
could  name  who  used  to  be  like  a  glass  of 
pure  water,  flavorless,  it  is  true,  but  a  clear, 
sweet  draught.  But  somebody  came  along 
and  put  in  a  little  claret,  and  another  a  lit 
tle  port,  and  another  a  little  tea,  and  still 
another  a  little  brandy,  and  spoiled  the 
water  and  made  a — detesta— 

"  Oh,  D. !  that's  a  champagne  cocktail,  and 
the  most  refreshing  of  drinks  !  Thank  you 
so  very  much.  I  don't  deserve  to  be  com 
pared  to  anything  so  good  !" 


The  path  at  this  juncture  became  too  nar 
row  to  ride  abreast.  Dolly's  rider  shot  on 
ahead.  In  these  recollections  why  does 
Dolly's  rider  always  shoot  on  ahead  ?  Who 
wrote  the  book  of  Joshua  and  made  him 
the  hero  of  a  hundred  battles  ?  Who  carved 
on  marble  and  stone  the  acts  of  the  great 
Pharoah,  Rameses  II.,  whose  mighty  spirit 
pervades  all  Egypt  to  this  day  ? 

Some  carper  likely  will  declare  there  is 
no  honeysuckle  lane  between  Hartford  and 
Bloomfield.  But  probably  he  did  not  choose 
to  take  these  riders'  route  to  Bloomfield. 
The  little  lane  with  which  they  made  ac 
quaintance  is  bounded  on  either  side  by  a 
tall  rail-fence,  not  the  most  modern  style 
of  enclosure,  and  rather  primitive  and  rude 
without  its  covering  of  vines,  but  there  is 
nothing  quite  so  pretty  when  it  is  intwined 
with  Virginia-creeper  and  trumpet-flowers  ; 
the  corners  bulge  out  like  flying  buttresses 
and  the  vines  hang  over  in  cascades,  which 
after  a  while  will  be  aflame  with  color.  Now 
they  are  a  green  mantle  with  the  pink 
honeysuckles  for  a  fringe.  The  bumble 
bees  were  zooning,  and  though  they  could 
not  see  the  little  stream  that  ran  alongside 


the  road  for  the  flowers  and  creepers  that 
covered  it,  they  were  haunted  with  the 
sound  of  running  water. 

"  It  isn't  the  air  or  the  sunshine  or  the 
flowers  or  the  sky  that  makes  summer  to 
me,"  said  D.,  "  it  is  that  low  murmur  as  if 
of  growing  things.  I  can  hear  the  grass 
start  and  the  flowers  spring ;  day  by  day  the 
soul  of  things  fleeing  up  countless  ladders, 

"  'Airy  pyramid  of  grass, 
At  its  motion  yields  a  pass, 
Through  the  wind-loved  wheat  it  flows, 
Up  the  tufted  sedge-flower  goes.'  " 

I  used  to  say  that  verse  to  myself  when  I 
was  a  little  boy  and  went  out  into  the  mead 
ow  and  buried  my  body  in  the  grass.  I 
didn't  know  whether  it  was  the  fairies  I 
heard  talking  or  the  flowers,  but  I  knew  it 
meant  life,  which  was  summer,  the  only  time 
we  really  are  alive,  the  rest  of  the  year  we 
are  in  the  chrysalis." 

"  Did  you  really  think  that  when  you  were 
a  child  ?"  asked  Dolly's  rider.  "  You  know 
the  reminiscences  of  childhood  are  rarely 
sincere.  We  relate  what  it  is  probable  a 
child  thought  or  said  under  known  circum- 


stances,  or  what  we  have  heard  older  people 
say  we  said,  but  our  own  memories  of  our 
own  thoughts,  are  they  reliable  ?  Tolstoi's 
autobiography  with  '  invention  '  written  on 
every  page  destroyed  my  faith  in  his  whole 
scheme  of  life." 

"  Of  the  thoughts  that  possessed  or  flitted 
over  my  childish  mind,"  said  D.,  lazily,  "  my 
recollections  are  as  a  dream  after  daylight. 
I  keep  them  as  a  laughing  summer  keeps 
hoar  and  frost ;  as  an  infant's  eyes  at  eve 
show  morning  grief.  As  I  recall  the  sound 
of  a  stream  gone  by,  or  a  vanished  bird's 
song,  or  chimes  that  have  died  a  silver 
death,  I  recollect  them  as  day  recollects 
shadows  the  dawn  has  put  to  flight." 

"  Oh,  D. !"  exclaimed  Dolly's  rider,  "  you 
don't  mean  to  make  me  think  that  very  free 
translation  of  Gautier's  D'Elle  que  reste-il 
Aujourdhut  was  your  own  thoughts  about 
yourself  when  you  were  a  little  boy !" 

"  The  question  of  the  line  of  demarkation 
between  the  assimilation  of  an  idea  and  pla 
giarism  is  too  subtle  to  be  discussed  on  a 
racking  horse,"  replied  D.,  oracularly.  "  My 
crime  was  in  adapting  the  idea  so  clumsily 
that  you  recognized  it." 


"  But,  D.,"  cried  Dolly's  rider,  who  was 
quick  to  respond  to  such  an  unusual,  an 
alarming  symptom  as  humility,  "  I  knew 
because  I  found  your  bookmark  yesterday 
in  Chansons  et  Ballades!' 

"  That's  the  way  doctors  diagnose  dis 
eases.  They  see  the  oyster-shells  under  the 
porch,  and  when  they  say  the  patient  has 
indigestion,  people  exclaim,  '  What  wis 
dom  !' "  said  D.,  coming  to  himself  with  a 
jerk  of  the  bridle. 

That  jerk  meant  a  gallop  through  the  lane 
till  they  reached  the  main  road.  At  the 
fork  they  came  to  a  house  they  had  at  first 
thought  deserted.  It  was  an  old,  brown 
house,  weather-worn,  and  drooping  at  the 
eaves,  the  shutters  hung  on  broken  hinges, 
the  porch  was  held  up  by  a  rotten  post,  the 
other  had  fallen  ;  tall  grass  and  weeds  grew 
in  the  front  yard,  and  front  windows  with 
the  panes  out  had  the  look  of  a  toothless 
mouth.  But  it  had  been  a  good  house  in 
its  day,  and  the  garden  at  the  side  was 
planted  with  peach  and  apple  trees,  and 
there  were  great  shrubs  and  lilac  bushes 
blooming  in  the  wantonness  of  neglect,  that 
some  time  or  other  must  have  been  pruned 


and  tended.  The  horseback  riders  thought 
of  the  people  who  had  lived  and  labored, 
and  hated  and  loved  there,  and  who  prob 
ably,  wherever  they  are,  think  about  it  with 
regretful  tenderness,  as  people  do  of  the 
place  they  once  called  home.  The  desola 
tion  was  so  apparent  that  they  were  startled 
when  they  saw  some  chickens  run  from  be 
neath  the  porch,  and,  surer  sign  of  human 
occupancy,  a  brood  of  young  ducks  waddle 
out  of  the  back  yard.  They  rode  around  to 
the  side  entrance,  and,  though  they  saw  no 
body,  a  yellow  calico  skirt  hanging  on  the 
clothes-line  revealed  the  foolishness  of 
theorizing. 

"  Oh  dear  !"  moaned  Dolly's  rider,  "  they 
haven't  gone  away  or  died  or  anything. 
Just  been  shiftless  and  no  faculty — and  I 
was  just  getting  ready  to — 

"  I  know  what  you  were  getting  ready 
to  do,"  interrupted  D.  "  You  were  getting 
ready  to  sentimentalize  over  the  old  home 
stead,  and  the  ghosts  of  little  feet,  and 
mother's  arm-chair.  It's  a  remarkable  fact 
that  eighty-eight  poems  to  the  hundred  in 
the  English  language  are  about  home  and 
mother.  I  for  one  am  glad  there  is  no  home 


in  the  French  tongue.  It  saves  us  from  an 
other  deluge  of  domesticity." 

The  bitterness  in  his  tone  puzzled  Dolly's 
rider  for  an  instant,  then  a  light  lightened 
the  darkness.  "  Why,  D.,  it's  high  noon  and 
lunch  time!"  she  exclaimed.  They  turned  the 
horses'  heads  and  galloped  home  through 
the  still,  hot  sunshine ;  so  still  and  hot  that 
the  horse-chestnuts  hung  their  white  blos 
soms  in  limp  languor  and  the  wind-flowers 
had  shut  their  eyes  and  the  people  in  the 
suburban  villas  all  gone  into  the  house  and 
left  the  red  chairs  to  emptiness. 

When  they  got  into  their  own  street  Dol 
ly's  rider  remarked  that  they  had  not  been  to 
Bloomfield.  "  Bloomfield?"  said  D.,  "who 
ever  said  anything  about  Bloomfield  ?" 

"  Nobody  said"  said  Dolly's  rider,  meekly. 
"  They  just  thought'" 


Ill 


HEY  started  at  an  early  hour  on 
that  perfect  day  put  down  in 
the  calendar  as  Tuesday,  the 
6th  of  June.  There  was  a  fine 
freshness  in  the  air,  and  the 
dew  on  the  grass  and  flowers  brought  out 
the  morning  sweetness. 

Turning  into  Albany  Avenue,  for  a  little 
while,  they  thought  they  might  as  well  go 
to  the  capital  of  that  great  State  whose  vote 
will  decide  the  next  Presidential  election. 
It  is  a  wide,  open  thoroughfare,  big  enough 
for  two  stage-coaches  to  thunder  down  it 
twice  a  day,  full  of  passengers  and  news  ; 
but  after  they  had  made  up  their  minds  to 
follow  it  to  its  destination,  Dolly's  rider's 
fickle  ear  was  caught  by  the  sound,  "  Here 
is  the  famous  Blue  Hills  Road  that  is  one 
of  the  seven  ways  to  Bloomfield." 

"  There's  a  hill  at  the  top  of  that  stretch, 
D.,  and  it's  getting  hot ;  let's  give  up  Albany 
for  to-day,"  she  said,  eagerly,  and  D.,  with- 


out  a  word  of  protest,  turned  into  the  fa 
mous  Blue  Hills  Road. 

This  remarkable  acquiescence  had  a  sin 
gular  effect.  For  three  good  moments  Dol 
ly's  rider  did  not  say  a  word.  Then  she  rode 
up  to  him  and  asked  if  he  was  angry.  The 
relations  between  these  people  are  like  those 
that  existed  between  Mary  and  Charles 
Lamb.  "  We  agree  pretty  well  in  our  tastes 
and  habits,"  says  Elia  of  himself  and  his 
cousin  Bridget — "  yet  so  as  with  a  difference. 
We  are  generally  in  harmony  with  occa 
sional  bickerings,  as  it  should  be  with  near 
relations.  Our  sympathies  are  rather  un 
derstood  than  expressed  ;  and  once  upon 
my  dissembling  a  tone  in  my  voice  more 
kind  than  ordinary,  my  cousin  burst  into 
tears  and  complained  that  I  was  altered.'* 

The  Blue  Hills  Road  — the  famous  Blue 
Hills  Road  —  lies  between  a  succession  of 
farms,  some  of  them  market-gardens,  some 
flower-gardens,  some  bearing  wheat,  or  per 
chance  some  other  grain.  It  is  shaded  by 
maples  and  oaks,  and  there  are  little  houses 
set  farther  back  in  the  yards  than  one  sees 
on  the  Farmington  Road,  but  they  are  not 
so  good  nor  so  characteristic.  Now  and 


then  one  comes  to  a  splendid  oak,  strong, 
vigorous,  spreading  sheltering  arms  that 
stretch  almost  from  one  side  of  the  way  to 
the  other.  But  oaks  are  democratic.  They 
grow  in  the  corner  of  a  humble  little  yard 
consecrated  to  pigs  and  chickens,  and  the 
great  place  on  the  hill  with  landscape  gar 
dens  and  circular  drives  is  bare  of  them. 

"  Why  do  you  call  this  road  famous,  D.?" 
asked  Dolly's  rider,  after  a  sunny  stretch  of 
monotony, 

"Why  do  people  always  speak  of  their 
towns  as  'good  old  towns?"'  replied  D. 
"  Besides,  /  didn't  make  it  famous.  That's 
always  the  way,"  he  continued.  "  People 
insist  on  making  the  person  who  is  show 
ing  the  way  or  who  has  read  a  book  first 
responsible  for  the  road  or  the  contents 
of  the  book.  I'd  been  at  Richfield  two 
days  before  Polly  arrived,  and  she  asked 
me  whether  I  always  had  such  weather.  I 
told  her  it  wasn't  my  weather.  And  then 
when  I  read  Fire  and  Sword  before  you  did 
you  never  left  off  asking  me  why  Zagobla 
did  thus  and  so,  and  what  Pan  Yan  meant 
by  that.  All  I  have  to  do  with  the  naming 
of  this  road  is  to  repeat  it  has  been  called 


the  famous  Blue  Hills  Road  since  the  settle 
ment  of  Hartford." 

But  while  he  was  muttering  his  woes 
something  happened.  A  man  in  a  buggy, 
wearing  the  United  States  postal  service 
uniform  dashed  by.  He  stopped  at  the  fence 
of  a  little  white  house  with  "  for  sale  "  pla 
carded  on  a  sign  in  the  yard.  There  were 
tall  weeds  and  grasses  blocking  the  walk  to 
the  door,  and  a  red  rose-bush,  wild  and  tur 
bulent,  stretched  across  the  best  room  win 
dows.  The  postman  got  out  and  carefully 
extracted  a  letter  from  his  pocket,  looked 
at  the  superscription  and  then  at  the  house, 
and  started  to  open  the  gate.  A  bent  old 
man  in  his  shirt-sleeves  was  in  the  back 
yard  drawing  water  from  a  creaking  well. 

"  Oh,  D. !"  cried  Dolly's  rider,  "  it's  from 
his  son  out  West,  you  may  be  sure,  and 
they  sent  it  all  the  way  from  Hartford  by 
special  delivery.  It  has  money  in  it,  I'm 
certain,  and  the  money  will  pay  off  the  mort 
gage,  and  the  house  needn't  be  sold.  Just 
think  how  really  paternal  the  Government 
is,  for  a  ten-cent  stamp  sending  that  man 
and  horse  all  the  way  out  here  to  bring  that 
check  to  that  poor  old  citizen." 


3' 


"  He  has  put  the  letter  in  the  box  on  the 
gate-post,"  said  D.,  dryly,  "  and  now  he  has 
gone  over  across  the  way  to  give  the  people 
in  the  red  house  their  mail.  See,  he  has 
turned  back.  It's  the  regular  nine  o'clock 
delivery — we're  not  out  of  corporation  lim 
its  yet." 

Dolly's  rider's  spirits  fell,  and  she  felt  so 
disappointed  that  she  rode  quickly  past  the 
old  man,  a  vague  feeling  that  she  had  raised 
hopes  merely  to  dash  them  overcoming  her 
with  shame.  She  needed  D.'s"Well,  you 
know  you  didn't  say  anything  to  him  about 
the  check  his  son  had  sent  him,"  to  restore 
her  to  tranquillity. 

They  had  ridden  two  miles  farther,  per 
haps,  without  adventure,  when  suddenly  D. 
exclaimed,  with  the  air  of  having  known  all 
the  time  what  they  were  coming  to,  "  There 
are  the  Hartford  meadows  and  the  Blue 
Hills.  Now  you  see,  I  hope,  why  they  call 
this  the  famous  Blue  Hills  Road." 

An  undulating  plain  stretched  before 
them,  and  beyond  was  a  fringe  of  willows, 
and  farther  still  an  open  country  free  and 
fair,  and  then  the  lines  of  mountains,  irreg 
ular  but  soft  in  outline,  so  far  that  all  the 


green  was  blue,  yet  near  enough  to  have  a 
sheltering,  embracing  look,  enclosing  peace 
and  shutting  out  the  world.  The  meadows 
lay  glowing  in  the  sun  ;  a  sweep  of  daisies, 
another  sweep  of  buttercups,  another  of  pur 
ple  asters,  interwoven  in  the  whole  and  yet 
apart,  a  carpet  of  rich  hues,  a  harmony  of 
tones.  Every  now  and  then  Nature  makes 
a  spurt  and  shows  us  what  we  might  be, 
what  richness,  what  beauty,  what  variety. 
Here  are  the  possibilities  of  life,  every  genus 
keeping  its  own  individuality  and  doing  its 
best  with  it,  its  best  being  to  grow,  to  bloom, 
to  scatter  seed  that  in  other  seasons  will  go 
to  the  carpeting  of  wider,  fairer  fields.  In 
sight  of  it,  these  people  made  up  their  minds 
that  even  on  horseback  and  riding  at  full 
tilt  down  a  smooth  piece,  they  could  not 
get  away  from  the  sermon  of  the  flowers. 

You  turn  off  the  main  road  and  take  a  cut 
across  some  outlying  farms  to  get  to  Bloom- 
field.  There  were  flocks  and  herds  lying 
under  the  trees,  and  people  were  hoeing  and 
ploughing,  some  coaxing  their  teams  in  the 
Irish  brogue,  but  all  Americanized  to  the 
extent  of  adapting  our  slouching  gait.  Here 
and  there  was  a  large  old  house  rambling 


33 


into  successive  outhouses,  but  these  were 
scattered  at  long  distances,  and  Dolly's  rider, 
who  had  talked  so  much  about  Bloomfield 
that  it  had  become  a  miniature  New  York 
in  her  mind's  vision,  was  disappointed  when 
D.  said  they  had  got  there. 

"Not  to  the  village,"  he  explained,  "but 
the  town  that  is  the  township;  the  village  is 
yonder."  They  looked  down  the  hill  and 
saw  a  white  spire  gleaming;  the  hot  air 
rushed  up  as  from  a  funnel ;  they  were  un 
der  a  sky  all  sun ;  it  was  quivering  and  tink 
ling  with  bird  songs.  Indeed,  they  saw  a 
plenty  of  birds,  and  birds  of  every  variety ; 
there  were  finches  in  three-colored  harle 
quin  suits  and  tanagers  in  plenty,  and  red 
eyes  ornithologists  call  mreo  salttarii,  who, 
however,  did  not  sing,  but  fed  greedily,  not 
holding  with  Mrs.  Browning  that  we  may 
prove  our  work  the  better  for  the  sweetness 
of  our  song,  and — the  critic  may  doubt — a 
little  humming-bird  who  gave  these  riders  a 
sensation  such  as  they  might  have  had  on 
seeing  a  flower  from  the  khedive's  gardens 
at  Shoobra,  or  a  feather  from  the  shah's 
peacock.  This  tiny  insect-like  creature  is 
indifferent  to  space.  He  spent  last  winter  in 


Central  America  or  Cuba;  he  will  fly  through 
the  air  on  unwearied  wing  at  the  first  breath 
of  October.  What  are  days  or  nights  to 
him  seeking  the  happy  isles  ?  What  the  blue 
ether  in  his  search  for  eternal  summer  ? 

One  wonders  how  these  people  who  live 
in  Bloomfield  township  amuse  themselves ; 
they  are  too  far  from  the  village  for  tea  and 
gossip,  and  not  enough  in  the  country  to  be 
reconciled  to  solitude.  One  woman,  they 
saw  with  pleasure,  had  adapted  herself  to 
her  surroundings,  and  yet  bent  to  the  cult 
of  culture.  She  had  on  a  man's  old  straw 
hat  and  a  calico  dress  made  in  that  happily 
defunct  mode  known  as  Mother  Hubbard 
fashion,  but  she  was  looping  vines  over  her 
porch,  and  in  the  yard  she  had  arranged 
what  is  known  in  art  as  a  Gypsy  Kettle.  The 
kettle  was  painted  a  bright  red,  and  in  it 
grew  a  flourishing  red  geranium.  The  illu 
sion  of  a  dinner,  cooking  over  a  fire  out-of- 
doors,  was  complete. 

Bloomfield  reached  did  not  look  like  New 
York.  The  houses  are  small  and  simple, 
with  no  soft  discoloration  of  roof  or  wall, 
but  a  weather-beaten  gray.  It  is  not  denied 
that  there  are  mansard  roofs  and  shingles 


35 


twisted  awry,  and  the  town-hall  is  a  house 
of  wood  which  we  will  not  say  is  not  built 
on  the  model  of  a  Grecian  temple.  But  for 
the  most  part  it  looks  like  an  agricultural 
village  somewhat  intrenched  upon  by  the 
modern  spirit. 

There  are  two  stores  for  general  merchan 
dise,  and  two  churches  (was  there  ever  a 
community  so  diminutive  as  to  require  only 
one?),  the  smaller  of  which,  a  little  wooden 
building,  set  in  a  green  grove  and  gleaming 
with  white  paint  and  green  blinds,  delighted 
Dolly's  rider. 

"  EX,  I'm  so  glad  to  see  it,"  she  said.  "  The 
very  church  Longfellow  had  in  mind  when 
he  wrote  'The  Village  Blacksmith.'  How 
do  I  know  ?  Oh,  as  Falstaff  knew  the  true 
prince,  and  the  witches  Macbeth.  I  should 
like  to  be  here  next  Sunday  and  see  the 
church  filled  with  people,  farmer  folk  with 
strong,  keen  faces,  the  women  with  a  sort 
of  Sunday  peace  in  their  tired  eyes;  the 
girls  in  their  white  gowns,  and  the  shy,  stal 
wart  young  fellows  with  bunches  of  these 
Bloomfield  roses  pinned  on  their  coats.  I'd 
like  to  hear  the  blacksmith's  daughter  trill 
ing  her  clear  high  notes  up  there  in  the 


choir,  the  bass  rolling  out  his  melodious 
measures,  a  little  rubato,  and — yes,  I  really 
would  like  to  listen  to  the  sermon  from 
the  white-haired  clergyman  in  rusty  black 
broadcloth,  who  reconciles  predestination 
and  free-will  in  an  hour  and  a  half's  dis 
course." 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,"  said  D.,  "  talk  low 
or  somebody  will  overhear  you,  and  we'll 
be  up  for  libel.  The  people  in  Bloomfield 
get  their  clothes  in  New  York,  and  they  have 
a  choral  society  which  directs  the  time  of 
music,  and  the  preacher  is  giving  a  course 
of  lectures  on  Esoteric  Buddhism." 

He  looked  anxiously  over  his  shoulder,  and 
Dolly's  rider,  who  is  moral  to  the  extent  of 
feeling  sorry  for  the  consequences  of  sin, 
galloped  out  of  Bloomfield,  and  did  not  feel 
safe  till  they  got  to  Tumbledown  Brook, 
which  they  ventured  to  think  out  of  the  se 
lectmen's  jurisdiction.  They  did  not  cross 
the  bridge,  but  went  down  into  the  water 
and  let  Dolly  and  the  bay  splash  about  in 
that  cool  stream.  There  were  tall  purple 
irises  on  the  banks  of  this  pretty  brook  with 
the  melodious  name,  growing  straight  and 
strong  amid  cascades  of  ferns,  and  as  they 


37 


looked  under  the  arch  of  the  bridge  they 
followed  the  course  of  the  stream  through  a 
winding  way,  banked  on  either  side  with 
wild  roses,  that  turned  their  round,  pink 
faces  to  the  sunshine. 

They  met  only  one  travelling  party  be 
tween  Bloom  field  and  the  Albany  turnpike. 
An  ancient  buggy  drawn  by  a  long  sorrel 
horse,  who  might  have  been  a  plough-horse 
or  a  racer,  it  was  hard  to  guess,  drawing 
an  old  man  and  his  little  grandson,  for  so 
these  people  divined  their  relationship.  The 
old  man  had  little  blue  eyes  set  in  red  flan 
nel  lids,  and  he  wore  a  black  broadcloth 
coat  and  flowered  vest,  his  cotton  shirt  had 
a  wide  collar  sewed  to  the  band,  and  a  wide 
brimmed  felt-hat  was  pulled  over  his  ears. 
The  boy's  mother,  mindful  of  his  irresponsi 
ble  and  extravagant  way  of  growing,  had 
made  his  jeans  trousers  very  long,  and  his 
little  white  shirt,  which  almost  reached  his 
knees,  was  buttoned  to  them.  He  stood  up 
straight  in  the  buggy  and  drove  carefully, 
his  freckled  little  face  somewhat  puckered, 
but  his  mouth  firm  and  solemn.  The  old 
man  clucked  to  the  horse  as  if  he  were  help 
ing  in  the  business  of  getting  home,  but  the 


boy  knew  where  the  responsibility  lay.  D. 
touched  his  hat  to  them  and  smiled,  which 
Dolly  knew  meant,  "  I  like  that  boy,"  and 
they  both  nodded  back  gravely,  but  they 
did  not  take  off  their  hats,  deeming  it,  per 
haps,  a  silly  city  fashion. 

"  And  I  like  them  for  it,"  said  Dolly's 
rider,  stoutly.  "  I  like  to  see  people  now 
and  then  who  are  a  law  unto  themselves, 
and  act  as  if  they  believed,  even  while  ex 
ercising  the  small  courtesies  of  life,  what 
the  Constitution  of  the  United  States  has 
declared,  that  all  men  are  free  and  equal." 

"  Where  does  the  Constitution  make  that 
interesting  declaration  ?"  queried  D. 

"  That  all  men  are  free  and  equal  ?  Why, 
it  says  it,  of  course ;  I  don't  know  exactly 
where,  it's  enough  that  it's  there — I  don't 
carry  the  Constitution  in  my  pocket." 

"  If  you  did  you'd  be  safe  never  to  find 
it,"  mocked  D.  "  Some  brigands  caught  an 
American  woman  going  through  Bulgaria  the 
other  day.  She  told  them  her  jewels  were 
in  her  pocket.  After  three  hours'  search 
they  let  her  go,  giving  up  the  job.  But 
that's  not  the  point.  Nowhere  in  the  Con 
stitution  is  there  any  such  phrase — it  says — " 


39 


"  Oh,  well — the  Declaration  of  Independ 
ence,  then,"  interrupted  Dolly's  rider.  "  I'm 
always  getting  them  mixed." 

"  There  is  neither  such  a  phrase  nor  such 
an  idea  in  the  Declaration,"  said  D.,  turning 
into  Albany  Avenue. 

"Then,"  exclaimed  Dolly's  rider,  ecstati 
cally,  "I  invented  it.  I  feel  like  the  Bour 
geois  Gentilhomme  when  he  found  he  was 
talking  prose." 

But  D.  smiled  compassionately.  "  You 
are  simply  quoting  a  phrase  most  governors 
of  most  States  and  most  orators  in  the  re 
public  use  and  ascribe  to  the  Constitution. 
You  were  misinformed,  that  was  all." 

"  Then  we  are  not  all  free  and  equal  ?" 
said  Dolly's  poor  rider,  disillusioned ;  "  that 
is,  not  by  the  Constitution  ?" 

"  Oh,  you  are  by  a  *  higher  law/  perhaps," 
he  said,  lightly.  "  Mr.  Seward  used  that 
phrase  with  good  effect  in  early  war  times, 
when  we  wanted  to  make  the  proclamation 
of  freedom.  But  it's  too  hot  to  use  it  now. 
It's  too  hot  to  do  anything  but  go  home." 

And  so  they  sought  that  refuge  which  has 
its  uses  when  every  other  fails. 


IV 


1 ALF-PAST  eight  o'clock  A.M.  ; 
thermometer  84°  in  the  shade. 
They  thought  they  would  get 
to  the  open  country  by  cross 
ing  Farmington  Avenue  at  a 
little  new  street  bordered  by  little  green 
bushes  and  shrubs,  but  the  little  bushes  cast 
no  shadows,  and  the  horseback  riders  passed 
through  a  fiery  furnace  of  unobstructed  sun 
shine.  Dolly's  eyes  followed  the  gnats  as 
they  swam  in  the  air,  and  her  head  swam  with 
them.  How  much  heat  poured  from  a  pre 
cipitate  height  would  dissolve  a  solid  into  a 
liquid?  How  much  heat  burning  into  that 
liquid  would  change  it  into  a  ray  of  light? 
It  was  a  strange  sensation  this — melting  away 
before  one's  own  eyes,  disappearing  in  a  flood 
of  self.  She  watched  the  process  in  an  imper 
sonal,  disinterested  sort  of  way — the  way  Ha 
drian  watched  his  soul's  flight  in  the  pretty 
poem  : 

"  Animula,  vagula,  blandula, 
Hospes  comesque  corporis," 


and  was  taking  a  kind  of  dreamy  pleasure 
in  feeling  the  cumbrous  flesh  glow  lighter, 
freer,  more  ethereal  each  instant,  preparing 
to  merge  itself  into  a  speck  of  gold  and  then 
to  dance  off  and  flicker  through  a  green 
bough,  when  D.'s  warning  voice  roused  her. 

"  You'll  lose  your  figure  if  you  don't  look 
out." 

He  said  it  in  the  tone  he  had  heard  mem 
bers  of  his  household  use  to  each  other 
when  it  was  a  question  between  cream  with 
strawberries  or  a  slender  form,  and  the  fa 
miliar  sound  and  words  had  their  effect. 
Dolly's  rider  lowered  the  thermometer  twen 
ty  degrees  by  turning  into  Asylum  Avenue, 
where  the  south-west  wind  met  them  and 
blew  them  into  the  seventies. 

They  got  a  fine  view  of  the  open  country 
at  the  head  of  this  street.  The  meadows 
are  free  of  trees,  except  for  a  single  oak 
here  and  there,  or  a  spreading  maple,  and 
the  sweep  of  the  clover  and  grass  is  unob 
structed  on  lowlands  and  uplands  till  the 
clearing  is  stopped  by  a  deep  border  of  pines. 
They  looked  cool  and  grateful  to  the  eyes 
after  that  stretch  of  sun.  At  the  black 
smith's  shop  at  the  cross  -  roads  Dolly's 


rider  announced  that  the  pair  were  thirsty, 
and  so  they  rode  up  to  a  weather-beaten 
house  at  the  top  of  the  hill  where  a  woman 
was  ironing,  her  bench  and  board  set  out 
under  the  shade  of  a  spreading  elm.  She 
was  a  tall,  gaunt  woman,  poorly  clad,  and 
a  number  of  infmitesimally  small  children 
were  playing  about  her.  The  bay,  restive 
after  his  gallop,  plunged  and  wanted  to  go, 
so  Dolly's  rider  forestalled  D.'s  getting  off 
by  asking  her  for  a  drink  of  water.  She  at 
once  laid  down  her  hot  iron  and  made  for 
the  well.  "No,  no;  just  that  from  the  pail 
there,"  they  expostulated.  But  she  smiled, 
and  said :  "  I  will  draw  you  some.  I  only 
wish  I  had  the  old  well-sweep.  I've  a  sort 
of  sentiment  for  those  old  wells.  The  water 
always  seemed  to  me  to  be  fresher  and 
purer,  especially  if  it's  out  of  the  old  oaken 
bucket  that  hangs  in  the  well." 

"That's  New  England  all  over,"  said  D., 
as  they  rode  off.  "  That  woman  has  prob 
ably  never  been  out  of  this  township  since 
she  was  married.  She  is  poor,  hard  worked ; 
she  doesn't  have  time  probably  to  read  a 
newspaper  from  daylight  till  dark;  all  her 
life  is  a  round  of  daily  drudgery;  but  she 


43 


has  a  refinement.  Did  you  notice  her  ac 
cent,  and  a  sentiment,  even,  that  makes  her 
wish  for  the  well -sweep  instead  of  that 
thing  with  a  crank  she  turned,  even  if  the 
crank  is  easier  ?  Where  else  would  you  see 
a  middle-aged  woman,  in  a  worn  calico 
dress,  ironing,  and  minding  her  children, 
and  having  an  eye  to  the  kitchen  fire— all  at 
the  same  time ;  and  in  the  midst  of  it  pre 
serving  a  certain  shy  sentiment,  and  stop 
ping  in  the  midst  of  her  work  to  be  hospit 
able  and  to  quote  poetry  ?" 

Dolly's  rider  looked  thoughtful.  "  When 
I  write  a  novel,  D. — oh,  its  simply  a  matter 
of  practice  and  training ;  anybody  can ;  none 
of  the  novelists  nowadays  have  any  talent ; 
they  despise  talent,  which  is  just  an  allure 
ment  into  ideality  instead  of  into  what  is 
real  and  true — I  shall  not  try  to  make  my 
New  England  woman  just  a  creature  in  a 
narrow,  prescribed  world,  crucifying  her 
body  and  soul  trying  to  keep  up  appear 
ances,  and  pretending  she  has  three  gowns 
when  she  has  only  one.  I  shall  put  her  in 
antislavery  days,  and  under  an  orthodox 
minister,  and  let  her  work  it  out.  There  was 
tragedy  enough  then  in  these  still  New  Eng- 


44 


land  villages.  I  got  a  hint  of  what  it  was 
when  I  was  on  a  carriage  drive  in  Massachu 
setts  last  summer,  and  stopped  at  a  little  vil 
lage  for  dinner.  There  was  only  one  parlor 
in  the  tavern,  so  I  didn't  have  to  be  conscien 
tious  and  walk  away  when  I  got  interested 
in  a  conversation.  They  were  evidently  old 
friends,  who  had  met  after  a  long  separation. 
The  man  was  a  Westerner — that  is,  he  had 
gone  West  in  his  early  manhood  ;  the  other, 
an  elderly  woman,  had  stayed  at  home.  He 
was  big  and  prosperous  and  florid  (he  talked 
as  if  he  were  used  to  talk  against  a  tornado) ; 
but  she  was  little  and  prim  and  poor  (her 
dress  showed  it),  but  her  face  was  seamed 
with  lines  of  determination ;  that  little  firm 
jaw,  and  small,  thin -lipped  mouth.  From 
the  drift  of  the  conversation,  I  inferred  the 
lady  was  talking  of  some  common  friend. 
'I  can't  take  you  to  see  her/  she  said,  re 
gretfully.  'You  see  we  haven't  really  talked 
to  each  other  for  years.  It  was  in  the  early 
abolition  times  we  fell  out.  The  Unitari 
ans  came  in  and  I  joined  them,  and  then 
I  joined  the  antislavery  movement.  She 
stayed  orthodox.  Her  sister  Mary  Lizzie 
went  with  me,  It  was  an  awful  time — fam- 


45 


ilies  and  friends  divided.  We  were  willing 
enough  to  be  friendly,  but  they  wouldn't. 
Jane  passed  me  on  the  street  for  years  with 
out  speaking.  We  suffered  some — we  come- 
outers.' 

"  The  man  laughed.  '  You  are  a  queer  set 
here.  You  know  I  am  a  distiller/  he  said, 
'  and  last  year  I  wrote  out  to  Jonah  to  send 
me  two  barrels  of  apples ;  they  were,  of 
course,  for  table  use.  He  always  was  the 
best  fellow  in  the  world ;  couldn't  get  religion 
when  he  was  a  boy — was  too  wicked,  had  no 
conviction  of  sin.  /  got  it  easy  enough, 
and  I  guess  he  has  by  now.  Well,  he  wrote 
back  he  was  very  sorry,  but  he  couldn't  send 
me  the  apples,  because  he  was  afraid  I'd 
make  some  sort  of  spirit  out  of  them.  Pret 
ty  dear  spirit!  The  apples  were  to  cost 
$2.50  a  barrel,  and  I  make  a  gallon  of 
whiskey  out  of  25  cents'  worth  of  corn  ;  but 
you  see  the  conscience  of  the  fellow.'  And 
then  he  went  to  the  little  window  and 
looked  out  in  the  street." 

"  That's  the  queer  contradictory  sort  of 
stuff  they're  made  of,"  said  D.,  "  these  New 
Englanders.  I  suppose  that  Yankee  farmer 
yearned  to  sell  his  winter  apples,  but  he 


loved  something  better  than  he  did  money, 
dear  as  that  was.  It  makes  a  queer  char 
acter,  that  thrift  and  cunning  and  saving 
spirit  held  in  check  by  principles  that  lie 
like  a  granite  foundation." 

"  And  speaking  of  the  difficulty  of  getting 
religion,"  said  Dolly's  rider,  "  up  in  Charle- 
mont  I  heard  a  story  about  the  village  shoe 
maker.  Everybody  got  religion  in  the  peri, 
odical  revival  but  Uncle  Billy.  At  last  the 
clergyman  called  on  him  in  person  and 
urged  the  matter  on  his  attention.  '  Well/ 
said  Uncle  Billy,  Til  make  a  bargain.  If 
you  can  convert  me,  I'll  give  you  the  best 
hog  in  my  pasture.'  The  parson  accepted 
the  proposition,  and  they  knelt  down.  Af 
ter  a  fervent  prayer  of  perhaps  a  half  an 
hour  the  speaker  paused.  *  Go  on,'  said  Un 
cle  Billy,  '  the  hog's  mine  yet.'  " 

D.  laughed.  "  That  was  his  New  England 
conscience;  you  see,  he  could  no  more 
let  the  clergyman  have  the  hog  if  he  hadn't 
justly  earned  it  than  he  could  have  pre 
tended  to  have  got  religion.  But  where  is 
Tumbledown  Brook  ?" 

For  it  may  as  well  be  confessed  here  that 
the  statement  made  in  the  last  chapter  that 


47 


the  riders  visited  this  charming  spot  was  in 
correct.  They  passed  a  brook,  it  is  true,  and 
the  water  tumbled  prettily  and  the  bridge 
looked -as  if  it  was  going  to  ;  but  it  was  not 
Tumbledown  Brook.  However,  for  their 
oath's  sake — for  they  had  promised  them 
selves  to  go  there — they  rode  till  they  passed 
the  blacksmith's  shop  on  the  main  road  and 
turned  into  the  wagon -road  on  the  right, 
where  they  were  assured  they  would  find 
the  fabled  spring.  A  jolly-looking  Irishman 
was  coming  down  the  path. 

"  How  far  is  it  to  Tumbledown  Brook  ?" 
asked  Dolly's  rider. 

"  It's  as  hot  as  blazes,"  said  Paddy. 

"  Yes,  I  know ;  but  how  far  is  it  ?" 

"  It's  as  hot  as  blazes,  I  says." 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  know ,  but  how  far  is  it  to 
Tumbledown  Brook?" 

A  puzzled  look  passed  his  face.  He  had 
been  accustomed,  they  inferred,  to  the  sort 
of  person  who  took  his  casual  remarks  as  a 
reply  to  any  question  put  to  him. 

"  It's  as  hot  as  bla — ,"  he  began,  when  D. 
rode  up  to  him  and  fixed  his  gaze. 

"  How  far  is  it  to  Tumbledown  Brook,  I 
say  ?"  he  demanded,  stopping  the  way. 


4s 


A  light  suddenly  appeared  to  break  on 
his  inner  being. 

"  Gosh  !"  he  cried,  "  and  it's  a  little  bet- 
ter'n  a  mile  from  here  to  the  top  of  the  hill, 
and  it's  a  good  half  mile  from  the  top  of  the 
hill  where  I've  been  working  to  the  woods." 

"  And  is  the  brook  in  the  woods  ?"  said 
Dolly's  rider. 

"  There's  birds  and  trees  there  and  a 
pretty  path,"  he  said,  with  a  pleasant  smile, 
"and  it's  a  good  day  I  am  wishing  you." 

Both  the  horseback  people  nodded  back 
again  and  smiled. 

"  I  like  Irish  people,"  said  Dolly's  rider; 
"  they  can't  bear  to  disappoint  you  by  tell 
ing  you  they  don't  know." 

"They  never  disappoint  me  by  telling  me 
that,"  said  D.  "  I  wonder  if  there  is  any 
such  place  as  Tumbledown  Brook  ?" 

They  rode  on;  the  sun  broiled  and  sizzled. 
They  came  to  a  great  bare  expanse  where 
200  workmen  were  hard  at  it  clearing  space 
for  a  reservoir.  The  great  basin  was  shorn 
of  its  trees,  a  drill  in  the  centre,  an  infernal 
looking  black  machine,  uttering  its  buzzing 
roar;  the  men  were  marching  in  line  carry 
ing  hods  of  red  earth  on  their  heads ;  the 


work  of  cleaning  out  that  great  red  -  hot 
caldron  looked  like  one  of  the  hopeless 
tasks  set  by  some  malignant  deity  in  an 
inferno. 

They  skirted  the  basin  and  rode  into  the 
green  wood  on  the  brow  of  the  hill — oh,  so 
still  and  green  after  the  fiery  furnace  ! — and 
walked  their  panting  horses  under  the  hem 
locks  dusky  and  sweet,  and  the  fir-trees, 
whose  fine  pine-needles  turned  the  ring  of 
the  hoofs  to  silence.  Long  shafts  of  light 
trembled  through  the  birches  dark  and 
green  and  the  maples  dark  and  silvery, 
and  through  the  delicate  fans  of  the  great 
red-oak  leaves  which  flapped  like  monster 
dragon -flies  in  the  wind.  Tufted  ferns 
waved  in  patches  of  brown  and  green  moss, 
the  azaleas  growing  in  the  sunny  spots  were 
spread  with  honey  lest  the  dull  bee  forget 
to  feed ;  the  fir  -  cones  thrust  out  their 
feathered  heads  from  tangles  of  grasses  and 
fungi,  and  by  the  trickling  streams  the  toads 
had  raised  their  small  wet  tents.  Jewelled 
creatures,  brown  and  old,  moved  in  the 
green  things;  the  riders  looked  up  into  the 
trees  and  saw  bright,  timid  eyes  shining,  and 
heard  the  scamper  of  small  feet  and  the  rush 


and  beat  of  wings.  A  damp,  sweet  smell 
came  up  from  the  swamp,  but  where  was 
Tumbledown  Brook  ? 

They  rode  to  the  clearing,  then  across 
country  and  into  Reservoir  Park;  before 
they  entered  the  wood  they  looked  over 
the  meadows  covered  with  waving  sedge, 
dark  as  it  was  bent  by  the  wind,  reflecting 
a  grayish  light  from  its  under  side.  A  farm 
house  here  and  there ;  a  stretch  of  field ;  a 
fair  open  country ;  wooded  heights ;  red 
roads  cutting  through  patches  of  green ; 
the  sun  shining  on  a  weather-beaten  gray 
barn  turning  it  to  silver — this  is  what  they 
saw  from  the  mountain-side ;  no  Hartford, 
no  Tumbledown  Brook. 

The  Reservoir  Park  was  also  dark  and 
green,  and  all  this  wood  was  alive  with 
sound.  The  What,  what,  what  of  the  screech- 
owl,  the  creak  of  the  cricket,  the  brown  pee- 
wees  "  cheeping "  under  the  bushes,  the 
caws  of  the  crows,  the  song  of  the  redeye 
singing  for  love,  and  of  the  wood -thrush 
singing  for  glory.  The  wind  also  took  its 
part  in  the  harmonious  discords,  and  rustled 
and  sighed  and  showered  down  pine  leaves 
and  turned  the  lily  pads  upsidedown  to 


show  the  crimson  underneath.  There  was 
a  trickle  of  water  and  murmur  of  hidden 
rills  that  flowed  from  little  cool  springs. 
The  pools  had  shrunk  to  summer  heat ;  on 
the  sides,  smooth,  whitish  water;  in  the 
middle,  dark  blue.  The  riders  looked  at 
the  little  minnows  shut  up  in  these  clear 
basins,  and  sighed.  Happy  minnows !  no 
big  fish  to  eat  you  ;  no  channel  to  lure  you 
out  of  peace ! 

They  took  the  road  to  the  lower  lake  ;  it 
lay  enclosed  in  the  green  woods,  a  sapphire 
set  in  emerald,  shining  with  an  inward  fire. 
Midway  in  its  clear  depths  the  broken  re 
flections  of  the  sun  danced  like  a  rainbow 
on  a  flame  of  phosphorescent  light,  and 
close  to  the  shore  the  rays  fell^  obliquely — a 
shower  of  gold  and  precious  jewels,  as 
though  Danae  were  hid  in  the  tall  grass. 
The  woods  on  the  opposite  shore  looked 
dim,  the  haze  of  full  noon  settling  upon 
them  in  blue  mistiness.  Ferns  and  iris, 
praised  of  the  poets,  the  broad  leaf  pota- 
mogen  rearing'  its  great  spikes,  yellow  ra 
nunculus,  pink  swamp -lilies,  lupins,  blue 
and  white  with  cup-like  leaves  to  hold  the 
dew  —  all  these  and  many  another  thirsty 


blossom  fringed  the  banks.  Was  this  the 
limpid  stream  and  these  the  fields  of  Enna 
where  Proserpina  gathered  flowers  ?  It 
was  not  Tumbledown  Brook. 

And  it  had  as  well  be  admitted  here  that 
Tumbledown  Brook  was  never  reached  by 
them.  No  more  did  the  ancient  voyagers 
find  the  spring  of  immortal  youth  ;  but  they 
did  not  regret  their  quest.  In  looking  for 
a  little  babbling  stream,  they  found  deep 
waters,  and  in  exchange  for  the  ferns  and 
the  bright-eyes  that  grew  upon  its  bank, 
they  strayed  into  the  meadows  of  a  goddess. 
And,  in  a  way,  they  have  the  brook  forever, 
for  it  dwells  in  their  fancy— clearer,  purer, 
sounding  a  sweeter  melody  than  any  brook 
that  has  its  dwelling  in  the  common-place- 
ness  of  memory.  One  cannot  be  disillu 
sioned  of  this  sort  of  illusion,  for  it  has  no 
vulgar  reality.  And  it  is  well  for  us  that 
there  are  some  places  which  must  always 
exist  in  the  imagination.  If  we  could  real 
ize  our  visions  we  would  not  mount  to 
heaven ;  we  would  simply  bring  heaven 
down  to  earth,  and  so  limit  ourselves  to  a 
purely  practical  existence. 

"  D.,"  said  Dolly's  rider,  coming  out  of  the 


53 


woods  into  the  open,  and  regarding  with 
sickening  apprehension  the  white,  stony, 
sun-smit  road  that  lay  between  the  paradise 

of Street    and    the    spot    where    they 

stood,  " why  cant  we  fly ?" 

And  D.,  in  a  cheerful  and  knowing  tone, 
quoted  Mr.  Snagsby :  "  No  wings." 


VEN  D.  admits  that  summer  has 
been  pretty  persistent.  We 
have  had  at  least  five  days  of 
it  in  succession.  We  haven't 
lighted  the  parlor  fire  since 
last  Saturday  ;  visitors  whisper  to  each  oth 
er  in  a  confidential  way  that  they  have  left  off 
their  flannels  or  have  them  on,  making  a 
merit  of  it  in  either  case  as  people  do  about 
their  intimate  affairs.  "  I  dared,"  "  I  resist 
ed,"  one  hears  in  asides,  in  the  one  case 
flaunting  the  recklessness,  in  the  other  the 
endurance.  The  white  duck  suit  has  made 
its  appearance.  This  costume  lasts  a  long 
time  in  New  England.  Every  well-dressed 
man  has  one  ;  but  as  he  only  gets  a  chance  to 
wear  it  once  in  two  years,  and  then  for  half  an 
hour  at  a  time,  unless  he  has  a  stationary  fig 
ure,  his  white  duck  has  to  show  some  adapt 
ability.  It  would  be  silly  to  throw  away  a 
perfectly  good,  fresh  -  looking  suit,  neither 
worn  nor  rubbed,  because  the  waistcoat  is  a 


55 


trifle  tight  and  the  coat  a  suspicion,  short- 
waisted;  so  for  the  fleeting  summer  days, 
when  we  get  up  in  the  nineties,  we  have  a  rare 
show  of  Hartford  men  in  white  linen  clothes. 

What's  fashion,  anyway  ?  Trousers  a  tri 
fle  short?  Englishmen  wear  them  turned 
up  over  their  shoe-tops  all  the  year  long — 
besides,  it  may  rain.  "Keep  pulling  your 
coat  down  in  the  back;  it  hitches  up  a  lit 
tle."  "  Yes,  you  look  very  nice,  so  becom 
ing.  I  don't  think  it  makes  the  very  least 
difference  ;  everybody  understands.  I  don't 
believe  a  human  being  would  notice.  To 
be  sure,  if  you  stand  that  way  inviting  at 
tention,  doing  everything  to  make  it  con 
spicuous,  of  course —  Lost  your  figure? 
Nonsense ;  not  lost,  but  gone  before." 

It  is  with  these  sweet  home  voices  ring 
ing  in  his  ears  the  Hartford  householder 
starts  off  every  day  this  week,  looking  in 
his  snowy  apparel  as  much  like  a  West 
Indian  proprietor  as  possible.  Another 
week  of  summer  and  he  will  have  bought 
a  Panama  hat.  We  are  trusting  creatures. 

The  horseback  riders  started  out  with 
the  intention  of  riding  into  the  bank  of 
low  white  clouds  that  hid  the  woods  on 


the  right  of  Cedar  Hill  Cemetery.  It  was 
hot  and  dusty  and  after  noon,  but  the  haze 
lent  itself  to  the  landscape.  The  Cedar 
Hill  Cemetery  road  rises  and  falls  with  the 
regularity  of  a  pulse  beat,  and  at  every  ele 
vation  the  view  widens  and  extends  till  it  is 
stopped  on  the  right  by  the  Talcott  range 
and  on  the  left  by  the  meadows  of  the  Con 
necticut  River.  The  nearer  view  of  Hart 
ford  shows  its  red  houses  set  in  clumps  of 
green  trees,  but  a  dip  in  the  valley  and  only 
the  church -spires  rise  out  of  the  woods. 
Take  them  out  of  the  landscape,  and  take 
out  the  cultivated  fields  that  lie  on  either 
side  of  the  road  and  stretch  to  the  river  on 
the  one  hand  and  the  mountains  on  the  oth 
er,  and  there  is  not  a  great  deal  of  differ 
ence  between  the  view  the  horseback  riders 
had  that  afternoon  and  the  sight  vouch 
safed  the  first  settlers  when  at  last  their  ex 
pectant  eyes  rested  on  the  promised  land. 
A  wilderness  of  trees,  a  dense  forest  which 
a  foreigner  would  not  dream  concealed  a 
city  and  its  people  in  its  green  depths. 

The  highest  civilization  has  brought  the 
face  of  Nature  back  to  its  original  aspect,  for 
Nature  and  man  are  instinctively  at  enmity. 


57 


She  raises  barriers  of  wood  and  stone  against 
his  inroads.  She  throttles  him  with  her  vines 
and  creepers,  tangles  him  in  her  branches, 
tempts  him  with  bright  flowers  into  wilder 
nesses  where  he  loses  his  way  and  is  lured 
to  his  death.  He  spends  years  of  toil  in 
fighting  the  inroads  of  the  forest,  conquer 
ing  Nature,  clearing  her  out,  rooting  her 
out,  subduing  her;  and  when  finally  she 
yields,  and  he  has  cut  and  burned  and 
trampled  his  way  so  that  she  lies  a  maimed, 
wounded  thing  at  his  feet,  he  goes  to  work 
to  revivify  her.  He  replants  trees,  sows 
seeds,  christens  weeds  and  flowers  with  roll 
ing  syllables,  and  in  some  spot  selected  by 
himself  gives  her  what  he  pleases  to  call  her 
liberty.  "  It  looks  like  the  country,"  is  the 
highest  praise  one  can  bestow  on  some  spot 
where  he  has  elected  Nature  may  follow  her 
own  bent. 

In  this  fancy  for  swinging  back  to  the 
original  starting-point  we  don't  confine  our 
selves  to  physical  retrogression.  As  soon 
as  we've  got  a  religion  well  in  hand,  intel 
lectual,  comprehensive,  liberal  enough  for 
us,  we  begin  to  search  for  the  creed  of  the 
simple  savage.  The  theosophists  got  back 


to  the  Iswara  of  the  Hindus,  and,  finding  it 
quite  rococo,  are  now  hunting  for  what 
they  call  the  Mahath  Aitamyam — whatever 
that  may  mean,  less  meaning  the  better — of 
the  whole  cosmos.  What  does  all  this  clamor 
for  simplicity  in  thought,  religion,  manners, 
and  life  signify  but  going  back  into  the 
wilderness  we  came  from  ? 

"  D.,"  said  Dolly's  rider,  looking  over  the 
fields  which  were  so  hardly  won  from  sav 
age  Nature  and  savage  man,  "  I  should  think 
you'd  feel  pretty  badly,  when  you  consider 
what  your  ancestors  endured  when  they 
came  over  and  settled  this  country ;  how 
they  suffered  privation  and  cold  and  hun 
ger,  and  how  they  battled  with  the  forest 
and  stony  ground  all  for  the  sake  of  Calvin 
ism  and  Puritanism,  and  now  is  the  Woman 
of  the  Seven  Hills  seated  in  glory  and  honor 
in  your  midst.  All  we  can  see  of  Hartford 
from  this  hill,  except  the  gold  ball  of  the 
capitol,  are  the  twin  towers  of  the  Roman 
Catholic  cathedral.  You  said  I  did  not 
know  my  Constitution  of  the  United  States 
or  my  Declaration  of  Independence  when  I 
ventured  to  quote  them  the  other  day,  but 
doesn't  it  seem  queer  to  you  that  the  coun- 


try  where  the  Roman  Catholic  Church  has 
grown  and  flourished  as  it  has  done  in  no 
other  country  since  its  foundation,  is  gov 
erned  under  a  constitution  whose  principles 
the  church  violently  condemns  ? 

"  You  know  the  theory  of  the  republic  is 
all  men  are  free  whatever  the  words  of 
the  Constitution  may  say.  Everybody,  pro 
vided  he  doesn't  interfere  with  anybody 
else,  may  go  his  own  way,  worship  accord 
ing  to  his  own  forms  or  no  forms,  speak  his 
own  thoughts,  have  a  free  press,  education 
—be  at  liberty,  in  fact. 

"  But  the  syllabus  says  men  are  not  free  ; 
they  are  not  capable  of  taking  care  of  them 
selves;  that  the  clergy  must  govern  the 
laity;  that  education  and  the  press  must 
be  under  censorship;  and  as  for  liberty  of 
thought,  the  very  declaration  that  the  Catho 
lic  religion  is  true  and  all  others  false  puts 
an  end  to  the  theory  of  toleration." 

"  I  will  not  argue  with  a  person  who  gets 
her  ideas  of  a  democracy  so  literally  from 
Froude,"  said  D.,  "  and  who  has  a  mere 
surface  knowledge  of  the  tenets  of  her  gov 
ernment.  The  fact  of  the  case  is,  religion  " 
should  meet  all  human  wants.  Our  the- 


66 


ology  in  New  England  got  too  intellectual. 
It  was  a  philosophical  religion,  and  reached 
only  a  certain  portion  of  the  people. 
You've  got  to  have  your  religion  in  pro 
portion  to  your  intelligence.  That  ad 
vanced  set  of  Protestantism  of  Schleier- 
macher  and  Bunsen  we've  been  having  for 
the  last  twenty  years  has  run  over  into  a 
sort  of  society  for  ethical  culture,  and  the 
ethical  culture  has  resolved  itself  in  an  or 
ganization  to  prevent  dulness.  When  I  go 
to  church  nowadays  I  expect  to  be  amused 
or  entertained.  Sometimes  the  preacher 
diverts  me  by  telling  me  about  the  Holy 
Land,  sometimes  he  tries  slides  and  magic 
lanterns,  or  he  discusses  the  questions  of 
the  day,  the  labor  problem,  etc.;  but  I  think 
slides  have  the  popular  preference." 

Dolly's  rider  drew  out  her  deadliest 
weapon— others  of  her  sex  have  employed 
it  before. 

"  Oh,  if  you  are  going  to  be  irreverent —  " 
"Catholicism  may  not  appeal  to  you  or 
me,"  said  D.,  taking  no  notice,  "but  for 
people  who  must  get  their  living  by  physi 
cal  labor  and  have  not  time  nor  inclination 
for  speculation,  or  for  people  who  are  tired 


6i 


of  their  own  judgments  and  willing  to  trust 
to  somebody  who  will  take  the  responsi 
bility  for  them,  Catholicism  is  the  final 
refuge. 

"  I  think  it  is  Miss  Edwards  who  says  the 
primitive  man  must  have  a  fetish,  the  fellah 
een  of  all  countries  demand  a  veiled  Isis. 
They  revere  mystery,  when  they  understand 
they  can  be  neither  awed  nor  terrified. 
What  was  that  about  the  scarlet  woman 
reigning  on  the  Connecticut  hills?  There 
is  a  subtle  red  tinge  over  things — see  how 
it  has  changed  since  last  week." 

Sure  enough,  the  yellowish-green  tint  that 
since  early  last  spring  had  prevailed  over 
the  meadows  and  fields  had  deepened  to  a 
reddish  glow. 

The  sun,  shining  through  low  white 
clouds,  looked  like  a  red  midsummer  flow 
er.  The  grass  had  a  rosy  hue,  clover-fields 
mixed  with  sorrel  in  full  bloom  or  purple- 
red  geranium.  The  white  and  yellow  flow 
ers  in  the  little  gardens  on  the  highway  had 
given  place  to  red  blossoms,  red  roses,  red 
hollyhocks,  smocks,  and  petunias.  Other 
details  caught  the  eye. 

Larnbskills,    dogsbane,   and    other    rich- 


glowing  flowers  were  tangled  with  the  wild 
roses  in  the  fence  corners,  red  cattle  were 
feeding  in  the  fields.  As  long  as  green  and 
yellow  were  the  colors  spring  lingered.  This 
glowing  tint  means  summer  —  lusty,  full- 
blooded,  luxuriant. 

"  If  this  were  France  or  Germany,"  said 
D.,  "you'd  think  it  very  picturesque." 

On  either  side  of  the  road  were  little 
market  gardens,  in  which  women  and  men 
were  working ;  the  latter  were  bareheaded, 
and  generally  wore  bright-colored  garments. 
One  old  woman,  in  a  brilliant  red  petticoat, 
bending  over  in  a  cabbage-patch,  might  have 
been  a  study  for  a  painter.  There  was  a 
little  white  cottage  set  back  from  the  cab 
bage-patch,  in  a  garden  of  pink  hollyhocks, 
and  on  the  porch  was  a  young  lady  in  a 
white  dress  swinging  in  a  hammock. 

"  Marmar,"  called  the  young  lady  to  the 
old  woman,  "  it's  most  time  for  you  to  come 
in  and  get  supper." 

The  illusion  vanished.  No,  they  were  not 
in  France  or  Germany,  but  Irish-America. 

"D.,"  said  Dolly's  rider,  "the  overflow  of 
Ireland  into  America  may  have  uprooted  or 
rather  choked  out  Puritanism ;  but  perhaps 


we  owe  some  of  the  adaptability  that  makes 
Americans  the  most  cosmopolitan  of  races 
to  a  people  who  have  so  much  gayety,  so 
much  good-nature  as  well  as  caprice.  You 
know  it  takes  a  lot  of  the  feminine  quality 
to  make  a  character  interesting,  and  the 
Irish  more  than  any  other  supply  that  trait 
in  our  make-up.  Think  what  we  were  for 
stiffness  and  reserve  when  we  were  all  Puri 
tan-English  !" 

"  I  don't  know  that  we  mayn't  admit,  for 
sake  of  conversation,"  said  D.,  "  that  the 
want  of  tact  we  complain  of  in  English  peo 
ple  is  a  lack  of  feminine  quality;  but  you 
know  what  I  think  of  tact." 

"I'm  not  going  to  be  rude  and  tell  you 
you  have  it,"  said  Dolly's  rider.  "If  you 
want  to  be  all  masculine  or  all  English  you're 
welcome.  At  least,  they  have  none  of  the 
effusiveness  of  The  Sex.  Do  you  remember 
the  officer  we  met  up  the  Nile  ?  He  had 
served  under  Gordon  and  idolized  him. 
Talking  about  his  untimely  death,  he  said, 
'  I  can  tell  you  this  :  when  I  heard  he  had 
been  murdered  I  was  cross'  And  the  wom 
an  who  recommended  the  soup  to  her  hus 
band  at  an  American  dinner-party  as  'not 


half  so  nasty  as  it  looked,'  and  the  lover  who 
proposed  to  a  girl  by  saying,  '  I  shouldn't 
mind  our  getting  married,  should  you  ?'  I 
suppose  that's  the  reason  so  many  English 
men  marry  American  women — they  want  a 
female  person  ;  and  also  why  so  few  English 
women  marry  American  men — they  do  not 
want  a  female  person." 

"  I  suppose  there  is  really  no  limit  to  what 
a  person  may  suppose,"  said  D.  "  But  when 
people  begin  to  theorize  as  to  why  anybody 
ever  marries  anybody  else  they  tie  them 
selves  to  the  tail  of  a  kite.  All  the  theories 
ever  advanced  about  marriage  any  way  are 
not  worth  a  row  of  pins." 

"  Oh,  if  you're  going  to  talk  slang  as  well 
as  those  dreadful  revolutionary  sentiments 
I  shall  go  home,"  said  Dolly's  rider,  turning 
the  horse's  head  towards  Hartford. 

D.  gave  the  bay  a  cut  and  caught  up  with 
them. 

"  Slang !  Ah,  my  Lady  Philistina,"  he  said, 
with  triumph  in  his  voice,  "  I  feel  like  Mr. 
Grant  White  when  the  English  duchess  cor 
rected  him  in  the  same  imperious  manner 
for  the  same  'Americanism/  as  she  sup 
posed.  Do  you  not  mind  you  of  the  passage 


in  the  sad  scene  in  "  Richard  II."  in  which 
the  Queen,  apprehensive  of  her  coming 
woes,  says : 

"  '  But  stay,  here  come  the  gardeners  ; 
Let  us  step  into  the  shadow  of  the  trees. 
My  wretchedness  unto  a  row  of  pins 
They '11  talk  of  state.'" 

For  the  first  and  only  time  during  their 
horseback  rides  it  is  the  duty  of  the  scribe 
to  put  on  record  that  D.  had  the  last  word. 
Even  Dolly's  rider  must  perforce  yield  to 
Shakespeare,  but  her  chagrin  lasted  into 
the  sunset.  The  hills  in  the  west  had  been 
darkening  for  an  hour  or  more,  and  all  at 
once  they  became  a  deep  indigo  blue,  and 
defined  themselves  into  mountains.  A  little 
while  ago  the  horseback  riders  had  taken 
them  for  clouds.  The  sun  sank  in  a  round 
red  ball,  the  after-glow  followed  soon,  a 
bright  scarlet  that  set  on  fire  two  small 
white  clouds  on  the  horizon ;  they  looked 
like  little  burning  castles  with  the  light 
streaming  through  the  windows,  and  as  the 
conflagration  spread  they  tumbled  into  the 
flames.  The  western  sky  was  a  purple  waste 
of  sea  when  they  saw  it  from  their  own 
woods. 


VI 


HE  air  was  cleared  by  the  thun 
der  -  storms  and  rains,  but 
scarcely  cooled.  The  damp 
summer  has  kept  the  leaves 
fresh  and  green  and  luxuriant. 
One  can  ride  ten  miles  in  any  direction 
around  Hartford  and  not  go  out  of  the 
shade  for  more  than  five  minutes  at  a 
stretch,  but  trees  and  rain  are  both  down  in 
D.'s  books  as  nuisances.  The  rain — well, 
there  is  no  excuse  for  rain,  he  says,  except 
that  it  is  necessary,  like  death  or  life  or  any 
other  discipline;  it  insures  some  sort  of  vege 
tation,  to  be  sure,  but  that  doesn't  save  many 
a  harsh  landscape  from  being  unattractive. 

"  Haven't  I  told  you,"  he  announces  in 
his  most  dictatorial  tone,  "that  the  high 
plateaus  of  New  Mexico  and  Arizona  have 
everything  that  the  rainy  wilderness  lacks 
— sunshine,  Heaven's  own  air,  immense 
breadth  of  horizon,  color,  and  infinite  beau 
ty  of  outline?  What  need  of  rain  when 


67 


science  can  regulate  all  the  moisture  we 
need?  For  my  part  I  want  to  live  in  a 
country  where  the  hose  and  I  can  make  our 
own  vegetation.  I  like  the  unlimited  free 
dom  of  a  treeless,  rainless  land,  its  infinite 
expansion,  its  floods  of  light,  its  waves  of 
color,  the  translucent  atmosphere  that  aids 
the  imagination  to  create  what  it  will.  When 
you  get  to  the  green  fields  and  the  trees  you 
know  all  about  it,  however  beautiful ;  it  has 
the  effect  of  a  familiar  tune,  a  touch  of  the 
commonplace,  and  if  you  are  not  an  igno 
ramus  you  must  be  aware  that  trees  and 
rain  do  most  of  the  mischief  in  the  way  of 
creating  disease.  Where  do  the  germs  of 
consumption  wither  and  die  ?  In  a  treeless 
desert.  Where  do  they  germinate?  In  a 
New  England  farm-house,  embedded  in  syl 
van  shades." 

"  D.,"  said  Dolly's  rider,  "  if  you  had  the 
making  of  it  you'd  manufacture  a  much 
better  world  than  the  one  we  have,  wouldn't 
you  ?  Don't  be  modest,  say  what  you  really 
think." 

"  I,  at  least,  having  known  the  failures  in 
this  one,  would  try  to  profit  by  experience," 
said  D.,  thoughtfully.  "  I  have  never  seen 


63 


a  farmer  who  was  satisfied  with  his  crops. 
Every  man  insists  he  has  had  less  rain  than 
his  neighbor,  or  more,  if  rain  is  not  needed. 
A  seasonable  or  a  reasonable  rain  is  the 
most  difficult  thing  the  tiller  of  the  soil  ever 
has  to  acknowledge  to." 

"  You  couldn't  have  these  elms  in  your 
desert,  D.,"  said  Dolly's  rider,  "and  you 
couldn't  be  without  them." 

They  were  going  to  Newington  along  the 
lovely,  shady  road  that  stretches  from  Park- 
ville  to  that  pretty  village.  A  succession  of 
splendid  elms,  as  large  as  the  largest  oaks, 
and  spreading  dense  green  branches  over 
head  marks  the  way.  Up  there  in  the  leafy 
columns  the  wood-thrushes  were  singing ; 
their  notes,  falling  on  the  still,  hot  air,  sound 
ed  like  the  jangling  of  keys  on  a  steel  bar. 

We  talk  about  the  sterility  of  the  New 
England  soil,  and  it  is  often  stony  and  un 
fruitful  near  the  surface,  but  that  outer  cov 
ering,  hard  and  unyielding,  is  no  more  a 
proof  of  barrenness  than  manners  are  a 
proof  of  morals.  The  roots  of  the  elms  work 
their  way  into  the  dark  recesses  of  the  earth. 
What  depth  of  richness  do  they  find  there  ! 
What  strength  and  nourishment !  And  as 


the  seasons  pass,  and  the  stripling  grows 
into  the  tree,  and  the  roots  spread  and  en 
large,  as  the  branches  stretch  forth  great 
limbs,  how  the  warm,  rich  soil  gives  up  its 
treasures.  What  secret  springs  water  it ! 
What  rich  juices  feed  it !  The  difficulty, 
beloved,  is  not  with  our  New  England.  It 
is  with  us  who  do  not  dig  down  deep 
enough  to  find  its  treasures. 

"  I  would  not  get  rid  of  these  elms  in  this 
landscape  and  under  these  conditions,"  said 
D.,  in  his  most  fair-minded  manner.  "  They 
do  very  well  for  trees,  but  it's  the  condi 
tions  I  object  to.  Set  a  man  down  in  a 
desert  of  perpetual  sunshine  and  no  water, 
except  what  he  brings  in  a  trough  from  a 
distant  mountain,  and  he  can  regulate  his 
life.  He  can  have  potatoes  and  strawber 
ries  and  grass  in  the  same  garden.  He  can 
even  have  a  garden-party  when  he's  a  mind 
to,  without  insuring  a  storm,  if  there  ever 
was  a  man  with  a  mind  who  wanted  a  gar 
den-party.  He  is  independent  in  a  word. 
But  what  sort  of  independence  is  this  of 
mine  that  the  first  cloud  that  floats  along 
the  horizon  has  it  in  its  power  to  drench 
me  to  my  skin  and  lay  me  up  with  rheuma- 


7o 


tism  ?  Why,  I  spend  half  my  life  looking  at 
the  barometer.  I'm  always  waiting  to  be 
interfered  with.  There  is  no  such  tyrant  as 
weather,  and  no  matter  how  whimsical  it 
is  they  will  call  it  nature.  It  would  be  a 
mighty  different  nature  if  I  and  a  watering- 
pot  had  the  regulating  of  it." 

There  comes  a  time  when  the  most  timid 
of  mortals  is  constrained  to  give  testimony. 

"D.,"  said  Dolly's  rider,  indignantly,  "I 
don't  believe  if  you  had  your  way  you'd  do 
a  bit  better  than  Providence.  As  for  inde 
pendence,  I'm  sure  you  wouldn't  know  what 
to  do  with  it.  I  won't  discuss  your  attitude 
on  important  subjects,  but  just  in  the  mat 
ter  of  your  household  and  your  dress.  You 
always  want  to  do  and  to  look  exactly  like 
every  other  man.  You  all  imitate  each 
other  to  the  detail  of  the  tie  of  a  cravat  or 
the  size  of  a  walking-cane,  and  go  on  disfig 
uring  yourself  with  the  most  hideous  cos 
tume  ever  invented,  because  if  you  revolted 
in  any  particular  you'd  look  different  from 
the  rest.  As  for  matters  in  daily  life  we'd 
be  cooking  our  food  in  leaves  in  a  hollow 
in  the  ground  if  women  had  waited  for  men 
to  buy  cooking  stoves,  and  be  sitting  on  our 


71 


hands  if  it  were  left  to  you  to  get  new  par 
lor  furniture.  If  a  true  history  of  the  world 
were  ever  written  we'd  find  out  who  insti 
gated  all  the  great  movements.  To  be  sure, 
and  that's  the  pathetic  part  of  it,  women 
are  always  the  power  behind  the  throne." 

"  It  is  not  denied  that  you  are  mischief- 
makers,"  said  D.,  "and  there  is  a  legend 
that  when  the  tempted  one  said  to  Satan, 
'  Get  thee  behind  me,'  the  devil  obeyed, 
taking  the  form  of  an  enticing  female. 
Hence,  you  see,  the  term  you  just  now 
used.  I  admit  we  are  not  as  eccentric  as 
women,  we  don't  wear  outre  clothes  or 
make  ourselves  conspicuous  in  dress  or 
manner  of  living,  because  we  have  a  sense 
of  humor  which  warns  us  of  our  liability  to 
be  ridiculous.  Women  as  a  general  thing 
are  lacking  in  humor.  The  first  man  who 
made  his  appearance  looking  like  a  balloon 
or  with  a  hump  on  his  back  would  have 
been  laughed  out  of  his  hoop-skirt  and  his 
tournure.  But  you  saw  only  the  novelty, 
not  the  absurdity,  and  went  to  imitating 
them." 

"  D.,"  said  Dolly's  rider,  "  statements  are 
not  arguments  ;  women  do  possess  humor. 


I  could  quote  Miss  Austen  and  George 
Eliot—" 

"  No,  no,"  said  D.,  "  don't  quote.  Quo 
tations  spoil  the  look  of  a  sentence.  When 
I  say  women  are  lacking  in  humor  and  you 
remind  me  of  Miss  Austen  and  George 
Eliot,  you  condemn  your  cause  by  making 
them  an  exception  to  the  general  rule. 
When  you  say  men  lack  humor,  I  don't 
refute  you  by  naming  Shakespeare.  You're 
like  the  English  official  who  defended  the 
Egyptian  character.  I  said  all  Arabs  lied, 
and  he  indignantly  replied  he  knew  three 
who  were  absolutely  truthful." 

There  is  one  advantage  horseback  riding 
has  over  other  modes  of  locomotion.  It 
is  possible  to  put  an  end  to  a  conversation 
by  riding  ahead.  Dolly's  rider  turned  from 
the  main  road  into  a  rocky,  bushy  field  that 
lay  between  two  cultivated  farms,  a  sort  of 
hollow  basin  to  catch  the  sunbeams  that 
streamed  lavishly  into  it.  The  ground 
was  dotted  over  with  patches  of  feathery, 
barren  grass,  barberry  bushes  and  creeping 
juniper,  scrub  oaks  and  slim  young  tulip- 
trees,  with  silver  sycamores.  Wild  roses 
and  indigo-weed  made  splashes  of  color  on 


73 


the  green,  and  "  love  vine,"  tangled  in  and 
out  the  dusk  of  the  leaves,  webs  of  spun 
sunshine.  Great  gray  bowlders  sprawled  in 
the  thickets,  looking  like  Brobdingnagian 
lizards  of  changing  hues,  as  the  sunlight 
flickered  on  their  gray  backs.  In  the  crev 
ices  of  the  rocks,  blossoming  sweetbrier 
straggled.  This  flower  has  an  innocent 
perfume  that  reminds  one  of  the  primitive 
affections.  They  looked  in  vain  for  any 
thing  useful  in  this  pleasant  place,  but  not 
even  blackberries  ripened  there,  nor  wild 
grapes  that  grew  on  neighboring  fences  and 
scented  the  air. 

In  thrifty  New  England  no  field  lies  fal 
low  or  overrun  with  useless  weeds  without 
an  effort  to  make  it  do  its  part  in  the  labor 
of  life.  The  horseback  people  knew  this 
field  had  been  tilled  and  sown  and  finally 
abandoned  in  despair,  but  none  the  less  was 
it  a  feature  in  the  landscape.  Now  the 
rainbow  is  not  utilitarian  ;  no  painter  ever 
dipped  his  brush  in  the  vermilion  of  the 
sunset,  nor  seraph  on  lightest  wing  so  much 
as  poised  in  his  flight  on  the  stately  battle 
ments  that  guard  the  horizon.  If  Nature 
paints  the  heavens  day  after  day  with  ships 


74 


that  sail  on  fabled  waters,  castles  that  no 
man  inhabits,  colors  that  vanish  as  we  gaze, 
lights  that  flame  and  die  ;  if  all  the  sky  is 
a  splendid  spectacle  exhibited  not  to  in 
struct  but  to  please,  not  that  men  or  angels 
may  dwell  in  those  fair  cities,  but  simply  to 
delight  the  eyes  that  behold  them,  perhaps 
we  who,  when  we  at  our  best  would  make 
our  earth  a  pattern  of  the  heavens,  should 
not  lament  that  a  few  acres  now  and  then 
resist  the  ploughshare  and  the  tilling,  and 
instead  of  grain  bring  forth  only  bright- 
hued  flowers  whose  colors  ape  those  fleet 
ing,  transient  ones  that  die  nightly  in  the 
sky. 

Just  within  the  precincts  of  Newington 
they  came  upon  a  fine  house  and  grounds. 
This  house  is  painted  a  bright  red,  there 
are  vines  about  the  piazza.,  a  green  lawn, 
a  tennis  court,  a  little  back  from  the  house 
is  a  stable  with  a  smart  weathercock  on 
top.  The  horseback  people  were  very  much 
interested,  and  stopped  a  man  who  was  hoe 
ing  in  the  next  field  to  ask  who  lived  there, 
not  that  the  name  would  have  given  the 
slightest  amount  of  information,  for  the 
person  who  told  them  might  have  been 


75 


mistaken  or  lied,  but  it  is  a  peculiarity  of 
human  nature  to  put  this  sort  of  question. 

"  Why,  Mr. lives  there/'  said  the  man. 

"  I  guess  everybody  in  these  parts  knows 
him,  he's  the  richest  man  in  Newington." 

He  spoke  with  a  sort  of  personal  pride  in 
his  wealthy  townsman's  existence. 

"  I  wonder  why  he  doesn't  move  to  Hart 
ford,"  said  Dolly's  rider.  "  I  should  think 
anybody  who  had  such  a  nice  house  and 
was  able  to  keep  it  up  in  so  much  style 
would  want  to  come  to  a  city." 

D.  smiled.  "  He'd  be  a  great  fool  if  he 
did.  He'd  not  be  the  richest  man  in  Hart 
ford  by  a  long  sight,  nor  would  you  and  I 
be  stopping  people  at  their  work  to  ask  his 
name,  nor  would  working  people  answer 
with  such  an  air  of  friendly  participation  in 
his  glory.  He  is  a  wise  man  who  is  content 
to  be  the  principal  personage  in  his  com 
munity,  wherever  that  community  may  be." 


VII 

HE    stable   boy    who    brought 

Worchester  to Street  for 

Philistina  to  try  him  would 
have  had  them  believe  that  the 
horse  had  had  an  adventurous 
career.  He  came  from  Kentucky  and  had 
enjoyed  fame  and  honor.  Indeed,  from 
what  the  stable  boy  retailed,  if  Worchester 
could  talk  he  would  probably  have  said 
with  Ulysses : 

"  Much  have  I  seen  and  known. 
Cities  of  men  and  manners, 
Climates,  councils,  governments, 
Myself  not  least,  but  honored  of  them  all." 

But  also  like  Ulysses  he  seemed  to  have 
no  craving  to  tell  what  he  had  seen  and 
known.  There  is  not  a  trace  of  vanity— 
that  solvent  of  reticence— in  his  steady-go 
ing  gait,  and  not  the  smallest  boastfulness 
or  ostentation  ;  he  is  a  long,  tall,  sorrel 
horse,  and  of  a  cool  and  resolute  temper. 

"How    do    you     like     him,  Philistina?" 


77 


asked  D.  They  had  gone  the  length  of 
Washington  Street  and  a  mile  or  two  down 
the  country  road  on  the  right  before  he 
asked  this  question.  D.  was  riding  a  new 
horse  himself,  and  Philistina  had  been  ask 
ing  him  what  he  thought  of  it  every  five 
minutes  since  he  had  mounted  it.  This  lit 
tle  incident  is  related  to  show  the  difference 
between  the  masculine  and  the  female  mind. 
"Well,  he  isn't  Dolly,"  said  Philistina. 
"  And,  in  fact,  he  isn't  a  female.  Dolly  has 
a  thousand  capricious  ways.  She  jumps  at 
holes  in  the  road  ;  she  runs  when  she  is  in 
danger  of  being  outstripped  ;  she  trembles 
with  excitement ;  and  she  gets  depressed 
when  she  realizes  that  she  is  far  from  home. 
But  she  knows  your  mood  by  instinct ;  she 
is  sympathetic,  sensitive,  interesting.  Now 
Worchester — well,  D.,  Worchester  is  like  all 
male  creation.  He  goes  right  along  the 
regular  road,  he  gallops  if  it  is  a  smooth 
piece,  and  he  walks  when  it  is  rough.  Just 
now  when  I  wanted — for  no  particular  rea 
son — to  ride  on  the  other  side  of  the  way, 
he  gave  his  head  such  a  contemptuous 
shake  that  I  expected  him  every  minute 
to  say,  '  Don't  be  silly,  running  off  at  a 


tangent,  keep  to  the  beaten  track.'  Now 
Dolly  would  have  gone  over  and  not  only 
enjoyed  the  variation  but  understood  it. 
The  truth  is,  it's  a  question  of  sex.  It's  his 
penetration  in  seeing  this  sort  of  thing  that 
delights  me  in  Howells.  Don't  you  re 
member  in  The  Quality  of  Mercy,  when  Mrs. 
Hillery  is  warning  Louise  against  Maxwell, 
who  had  been  brought  up  in  another  class  of 
society,  and  had  other  ideas  and  another 
social  code,  she  says,  'He'd  be  different 
enough,  merely  being  a  man.' >: 

D.  smiled.  "  Her  remonstrance,  I  recol 
lect,  had  very  little  effect.  Different  as 
they  were,  Louise  preferred  him  to  the 
most  faithful  reproduction  of  herself.  I 
do  not  know  why  it  is,  Philistina,  but  this 
cool,  bright  day  makes  me  melancholy.  I 
say  I  do  not  know,  and  yet  I  do  know  ;  it  is 
its  autumnal  character.  It  is  useless  to  tell 
me  that  it  is  the  beginning  of  July.  Such 
days  as  these  are  sent  to  make  us  remember 
that  frost  and  blight  are  coming,  the  leaves 
must  change  and  fall,  and  ice  and  snow  cover 
the  earth.  Look  at  the  grass  with  the  yel 
low  tinge,  and  that  bush  with  the  leaves 
turning  crimson.  Feel  this  sweet  cool 


79 


wind,  not  cold  enough  to  stir  the  blood, 
but  like  the  touch  of  a  ghost's  fingers. 
Hear  the  birds  in  the  copse — every  note  is 
reminiscent.  Now  nobody  ever  feels  mel 
ancholy  in  hot  weather.  We  grumble  and 
are  uncomfortable,  but  the  very  sense  of 
discomfort  gives  a  feeling  of  permanence 
and  continuance.  We  are  hot  and  we  al 
ways  shall  be  hot.  It  takes  all  our  time  to 
exist.  We  have  no  prescience  for  to-mor 
row  except  to  hope  it  will  come  because 
to-day  is  pretty  disagreeable.  But  an  after 
noon  like  this,  when  earth  and  sky  and  air 
are  bathed  in  beauty  and  peace,  is  also  full 
of  warning  voices. 

'  Hence  in  a  season  of  calm  weather, 
Though  inward  far  we  be, 
Our  souls  have  sight  of  that  immortal  sea 
That  brought  us  hither.' 

That's  life — you  can't  get  any  present  out 
of  it.  You've  always  got  something  to  re 
mind  you  of  where  you  came  from  or  where 
you're  going  to.  What  I  want  is  a  now, 
and  leisure  to  enjoy  it.  There  is  no  pleas 
ure  to  me  in  any  situation  where  I  am  re 
minded  that  it  is  a  passing  pleasure.  The 
only  person  with  whom  I  ever  found  my- 


So 


self  in  full  sympathy  in  this  hatred  of 
change  and  this  content  with  the  present  is 
a  man  the  Parson  was  telling  me  about. 
He  was  crippled  and  deaf  and  half  blind, 
and  the  Parson,  after  dilating  on  the  joys 
of  heaven,  asked  him  if  he  didn't  want  to 
go  there.  '  No,'  he  said,  stoutly.  'I  don't; 
I  know  what  I  got.'  The  hint  of  autumn 
in  this  air  is  just  as  melancholy  to  me  as 
the  flush  of  fever  in  a  consumptive's  cheek. 
Death  is  not  here  to-day,  but  he  is  coming — 
surely — for  see  where  he  has  set  his  sign." 

"  D.,"  said  Philistina,  "  it  may  all  be  true 
that  you  have  said,  except  that  the  bird 
songs  are  reminiscent.  If  you  knew  about 
ornithology  you'd  know  that  a  bird's  song 
is  an  anticipation,  and  expresses  happiness 
or  joy  only,  except  when  the  male  bird  has 
lost  his  mate  ;  then  he  sings  for  a  few  days, 
but  whether  to  make  the  other  birds  know 
he  is  in  a  position  to  be  consoled,  or  to  try 
to  bring  her  back,  you'll  have  to  guess  from 
your  knowledge  of  the  male  nature.  For 
me  the  very  sense  of  its  transitoriness  gives 
this  perfect  day  an  added  charm.  What  are 
the  things  we  care  for  but  the  things  that 
are  rare,  and,  above  all,  that  we  have  not 


Sr 


got  ?  You  see  that  in  all  the  poetry.  In 
northern  countries  they  sing  about  the  date- 
palm  and  the  orange-trees,  and  the  fragrant 
breath  of  summer,  and  in  the  East  it's  all 
about  water  and  shade.  There's  hardly  a 
poetical  image  in  the  Bible  that  hasn't  got 
something  about  running  waters  and  shady 
rills  ;  whenever  they  wanted  to  boast  about 
their  country,  a  desire  to  which  the  Old 
Testament  writers  yielded  rather  often,  you 
know,  they  dilated  on  the  brooks  and  the 
clear  streams  and  the  fountains.  Now  we, 
who  are  used  to  a  plenty  of  water,  don't 
compare  our  lady  loves  to  a  spring  shut  up, 
or  a  fountain  sealed,  as  Solomon  did." 

"  I  wonder  what  one  of  those  Old  Testa 
ment  Jews,  who  has  never  been  beyond  Jor 
dan  in  his  life,  would  say,"  said  D.,  "  if  he 
could  be  transported  to  this  green  lane  after 
all  his  bragging  about  his  mud  holes  and 
his  land  of  milk  and  honey,  two-thirds  of 
which  is  a  desert  of  limestone  rocks  and 
ledges,  whitish-gray  glaring  in  the  sun,  the 
stones  wasted  by  age,  relieved  with  little 
scrubby  trees,  unrejoiced  by  a  single  blade 
of  grass,  and  barren  to  the  extent  that  the 
most  industrious  bird  couldn't  collect  in 

6 


its  length  and  breadth  enough  material  to 
make  a  nest.  Would  he  burst  into  a  sub 
lime  canticle  at  the  sight  of  this  luxuriant 
verdure,  or  be  angry  because  there  are 
places  more  beautiful  than  Jerusalem,  the 
joy  of  the  whole  earth  ?  One  of  the  queer 
things  in  this  world  is  the  effect  Palestine 
has  on  ministers  of  the  gospel.  They  come, 
many  of  them,  from  cold  countries,  and  they 
are  fascinated  with  the  idea  of  a  land  they 
have  Scriptural  authority  for  believing  is  a 
land  of  vines  and  olives  and  palms,  of  soft 
skies,  and  no  danger  of  throat  trouble.  Of 
course  they  pitch  their  tents,  like  the  rest 
of  us,  amid  Moslem  squalor,  barrenness, 
and  within  the  circuit  of  icy  winds.  But 
there  is  this  to  be  said  for  them,  they  never 
betray  their  disillusion  about  the  Brook 
Cherith,  or  the  site  of  Jericho,  or  the  ashy 
soil  on  which  the  Jews  looked  from  the 
mountains  of  Moab,  and  wept  when  they 
remembered  Zion.  The  faith  in  the  desira 
bility  of  Palestine  will  never  die  out  as  long 
as  clergymen  go  there  and  have  it  to  preach 
about  from  the  time  they  return  till  their 
retirement." 
With  that  barren  land  in  mind,  it  did 


seem  a  pleasant  country  when  they  turned 
into  the  New  Haven  turnpike,  a  white  road 
bordered  by  trees.  The  landscape  gradu 
ally  closed  about  them,  they  heard  the  cat 
tle  ripping  off  the  lush  grass  in  the  fields, 
and  the  rattle  of  the  mowing-machine. 

Now  and  again  they  came  to  little  pools 
where  small  fish  leaped,  rippling  on  the  sur 
face  in  ever  widening  circles  ;  the  mirror  of 
the  water  was  broken  by  tall  knots  of  irises 
and  bullrushes  or  a  floating  layer  of  lily 
leaves.  The  sunlight,  as  it  fell  upon  the 
ferns  and  the  grasses  of  the  slopes,  blended 
their  several  tints  of  lilac,  russet,  red,  yel 
low,  and  the  varied  greens  into  a  harmo 
nious  radiance.  On  the  wooded  slope  the 
glossy  bronze -red  leaves  of  the  beech 
showed  bravely  against  the  green  of  the 
chestnuts  and  their  hanging  white  sprays. 
Spenser  hit  on  an  apt  phrase  when  he  called 
this  muscular,  stalwart  tree  "the  warlike 
beech." 

They  met  a  turtle  in  the  road,  his  back 
covered  with  the  fragments  of  green  leaves 
blown  off  in  yesterday's  storm.  He  was 
walking  along  seemingly  indifferent  to  the 
loveliness  of  the  day  and  the  scenery  till  the 


sight  or  the  sound  of  the  horseback  riders 
made  him  pause  and  draw  in  his  head.  D. 
took  this  for  a  sign  that  he  did  not  admire 
their  appearance,  and  wanted  to  get  down 
and  in  vengeance  mark  his  back  with  the 
date  10,000  B.C.,  and  so  upset  the  idea  of 
the  Biblical  chronology,  but  was  deterred 
by  the  presence  of  two  little  boys  sitting 
on  the  fence,  innocent  of  latter-day  scep 
ticism  and  stockings.  He  said  the  mud- 
turtle  reminded  him  of  a  horse  he  once  rode 
going  down  to  Jericho,  whose  prototype  was 
the  Emperor  Honorius,  whom  Gibbon  de 
scribed  as  without  passions  and  therefore 
without  talents. 

Of  birds  and  flowers  they  noted  little 
change  since  last  week,  except  that  the 
meadow-lilies  had  grown  to  maturity,  and 
they  came  upon  stately  clumps  of  wood- 
lilies  growing  between  the  stumps  of  fallen 
trees.  The  ferns  were  big  and  lusty,  with 
red  seeds  powdering  the  ridge  of  the  fronds, 
and  corn  poppies,  coreopsis,  and  red  flags 
flaunting  their  freckled  faces,  grew  on  the 
road-side.  Of  birds,  the  valley-thrush  sang 
its  simple  flute-like  song,  but  the  robbins  had 
lost  their  pure  piercing  notes  and  sputtered 


like  hoarse  stammerers.  The  care  of  the 
young  of  any  species  leaves  little  room  for 
the  practice  of  the  fine  arts — the  woods  are 
full  of  young  fledglings  their  parents  are 
scolding  into  the  mystery  of  how  to  fly. 
The  heat  and  blaze  of  midsummer  also  si 
lence  many  of  our  birds. 

They  turned  out  of  the  New  Haven  Road 
at  a  sort  of  fork,  skirted  the  edge  of  a  deep 
wood.on  the  hill-side,  and  rode  along  a  path 
too  narrow  for  two  to  go — abreast,  a  cool 
dim  path  as  restful  as  solitude. 

Suddenly  D.  stopped  and  parted  the 
branches  of  a  spreading  oak.  They  looked 
down  into  a  green  basin  framed  in  blue.  In 
the  centre  Hartford  lay ;  they  saw  the 
gleam  of  the  white  and  red  houses,  and  the 
tall  church-spires,  and  the  gold  dome  of  the 
capitol.  A  dark  and  glossy  background  of 
green  spread  to  the  foot  of  the  mountains 
that  seemed  to  float  down  in  billowy  waves 
to  meet  it.  That  stretch  of  blue,  as  pene 
trating  as  a  ray  of  light  flashed  in  a  dark 
room,  seemed  to  liberate  them  from  earth. 
The  river  meadows  looking  towards  the 
light  glowed  or  darkened  as  the  clouds  float 
ing  over  them  separated  in  flaming  masses, 


or  grew  black  in  heavy  blocks.  From  the 
hill  they  saw  their  great  shadows  pass  slow 
ly  over  the  top  of  the  green  forest. 

"  If  we  had  any  such  historical  association 
this  would  be  as  beautiful  as  a  view  of 
Rome  from  the  Villa  D'Este,"  said  Philis- 
tina. 

D.  turned  right  about  in  a  manner  which 
would  have  been  agitating  to  Dolly,  but 
was  received  by  Worchester  with  phleg- 
ma£ic  indifference  as  all  being  in  a  day's 
work. 

"  No  historical  association,  indeed  !  Will 
you  tell  me  why  the  Pequot  War  and  Cap 
tain  John  Mason,  of  Windsor,  are  not  as 
much  matters  of  history  as  the  fights  be 
tween  the  Sabines  and  the  Romans  ?  Or 
these  paths,  trod  by  the  men  who  origi 
nated  this  government  of  the  people,  by  the 
people,  for  the  people,  are  not  as  sacred  as 
the  walks  traversed  by  Cicero  ?  There  is 
one  point  of  resemblance,  however,  I  grant 
you,  which  makes  the  view  of  Hartford  as 
interesting  as  that  of  Rome.  Both  are 
drained  into  their  own  rivers.  Let  us  go 
home." 


VIII 

ARDON  my  whispering,  read 
er,  but  the  habit  has  taken 
fast  hold.  Philistina  has  been 
buying  a  horse,  and  the  affair 
has  been  conducted  with  so 
much  secrecy  and  so  much  diplomacy  that 
loud  speech  has  not  been  indulged  in  dur 
ing  the  negotiation. 

The  first  thing  one  has  to  learn  when  one 
goes  into  the  horse  business  is  to  assume  an 
air  of  indifference.  No  matter  if  horseback 
riding  is  the  one  essential  to  your  health, 
no  matter  if  your  ambition  to  ride  or  love  of 
the  exercise  renders  the  thought  of  a  horse 
less  existence  insupportable,  conceal  your 
real  emotion.  What  you  have  got  to  fight 
in  the  man  who  sells  you  your  horse  is  a 
cool  reluctance  to  enter  into  business  rela 
tions  with  you.  He'd  like  to  have  you  have 
the  horse.  He  likes  you,  likes  the  way  you 
talk,  likes  your, looks.  If  he  was  not  a 
plain  man  and  no  flatterer  he'd  say  he'd 


rather  you  have  the  horse  than  anybody  he 
ever  knew  on  so  short  an  acquaintance. 
But  there's  a  little  matter  between  him  and 
a  lady  over  to  Willimantic.  She's  that  set 
on  the  horse  that  he'd  hardly  take  the  re 
sponsibility  of  disappointing  her.  But  then 
she  hasn't  got  the  figure  for  it.  You've  got 
to  have  a  fine,  straight  figure  to  look  well 
on  a  horse,  and  the  Willimantic  lady — well, 
if  a  man  could  be  excused  for  plain  speech, 
is  a  trifle  stout,  and  he  has  to  own  he  likes 
a  good  horse  to  have  a — well,  a  handsome 
appearing  rider.  Now  if  that  Willimantic 
lady  could  be  satisfied —  Oh,  Philistina, 
with  what  weapons  will  you  fight  such  sub 
tle,  subtle  flattery  ! 

The  fact  is,  all  horse  sales  are  conducted 
in  Oriental  fashion.  No  hurry,  plenty  of 
graceful  compliments,  and  cool  indifference 
on  both  sides. 

Philistina's  horse  was  finally  chosen  on 
account  of  its  simple  and  open  past,  and 
its  almost  haughty  acknowledgment  of  a 
dearth  of  social  pretension. 

Almost  every  horse  that  is  for  sale  is  a 
blooded  horse  from  Kentucky,  and  has  tak 
en  the  prize  at  the  Illinois  State  fair. 


If  he  balks,  it  is  insisted  that  balking  is 
an  aristocratic  tendency.  Does  he  shy,  it 
is  a  direct  inheritance  from  his  great-grand 
father,  the  famous  racer.  Run — that's  the 
blood.  His  very  faults,  like  those  of  Emer 
son's  good  man,  illustrated  by  the  wounded 
oyster  who  mended  his  shell  with  pearl, 
work  to  his  advantage.  His  exaggerated 
head  occasions  the  same  sort  of  pride  as 
the  Hapsburg  lips ;  his  stocky  legs,  as  the 
Guelf  peculiarity  of  being  short  and  fat,  or 
of  the  Dobson  family's  light  hair  and  eyes. 
If  he  "  picks  his  feet,"  or  shies  or  bucks,  the 
dealer  has  the  same  impartial  air  of  sweet 
reasonableness  in  his  reply:  "I  never  said 
he  was  a  rocking-chair,  and  I  disown  him 
to  be  a  Texas  mustang.  He  is  a  blooded 
Kentucky  horse,  and  he  had  the  medal  at 
the  Illinois  State  fair." 

'•  Bring  me  a  mustang,"  at  last  cried  Phil- 
istina,  with  angry  insistence,  goaded  to  this 
act  by  the  same  thing  that  has  made  her 
rejoice  in  her  peasant  forefathers  when  peo 
ple  bragged  of  the  gout,  and  the  mustang 
was  forthcoming  and  the  bargain  com 
pleted. 

Well,  now  that  the  long  struggle  is  over, 


what  of  it?  He  is  safe  and  sound  in  the 
stable.  Sound  ? — stay- 
There  is  a  freemasonry  between  horse  peo 
ple.  Philistina  found  this  out  when,  seeing 
an  advertisement  in  a  paper,  she  went  to 
a  neighboring  city  to  look  at  a  horse.  The 
horse  proved  to  be  blind  of  an  eye.  She  had 
provided  herself  with  an  adviser  in  the  per 
son  of  another  horseman,  who  was  to  judge 
of  defects,  and  when  she  turned  to  him  to 
corroborate  her  statement  that  a  missing 
eye  was  an  awkward  blemish,  what  was 
her  surprise  to  hear  from  her  own  lawyer, 
"  Why,  I  can't  say,  marm,  as  I  look  at  it  that 
way.  Horses — blooded  horses,  which  ain't 
rocking-chairs  nor  yet  mustangs,  are  al 
ways  shying  at  something  in  the  road,  and 
if  he  is  off  of  an  eye,  he  ain't  got  but  one 
side  to  shy  from." 

When,  therefore,  the  horse  she  finally  se 
lected,  fresh  from  the  Texas  plains,  was  real 
ly  hers,  she  looked  with  gratification  at  the 
long  'line  of  stablemen  from  half  a  mile 
around,  who  filed  into  the  stable  to  see  the 
new  purchase,  and,  of  course,  to  praise  it. 
But  circumstances  were  changed.  Every 
livery- stable  owner,  every  shock -headed 


groom  had  his  word.  The  acumen  with 
which  defects  were  detected  showed  merci 
less  if  penetrating  gaze. 

Like  all  shallow  criticism  and  would-be 
popular  criticism,  there  was  no  delicate  and 
discriminating  praise.  It  is  much  easier  to 
be  vulgarly  smart  and  ill-natured  than  gen 
erous  and  just,  thought  Philistina  when  it 
had  been  suggested  that  his  ankles  were  a 
trifle  swelled  and  there  was  a  smallish  lump 
on  his  knee,  and  his  back  was  a  "  leetle 
round  for  a  saddle."  What  a  pity  that  more 
substantial  comfort  cannot  be  extracted 
from  discriminating  observation. 

But  to  horse. 

Philistina  had  been  brought  up  in  a  pious 
if  humble  way.  She  had  been  taught  from 
youth  that  while  beauty  is  a  fading  flower, 
homeliness  is  guaranteed  to  last  a  lifetime, 
Therefore,  as  she  bought  her  horse  for  his 
staying  capacities,  she  avoided  the  snare  of 
good  looks.  The  Texas  free-lance  had  lately 
been  in  distressed  circumstances,  and  the  red 
and  white  hairs  on  his  mottled  body  were 
so  worn  that  when  Philistina  demanded 
a  name  for  him  D.'s  immediate  response 
"  Esau  "  looked  like  an  inspiration.  As  has 


92 


been  remarked,  Philistina  bought  Esau  on 
account  of  his  democratic  birth ;  the  only 
record  of  who  he  is  and  whence  he  came  is 
branded  in  huge  letters  on  his  side.  "  The 
cowboys  got  really  mortified, "explained  D., 
"  because  they  kept  hanging  men  for  steal 
ing  their  own  horses;  so  they  reorganized 
the  brands,  and  not  only  required  owners  to 
put  their  initial  but  their  initials  on."  Esau's 
master,  according  to  this,  must  have  been 
a  Spanish  hidalgo,  for  his  name  stretches 
the  length  of  his  body.  For  the  rest,  it 
may  be  said  that  he  has  the  adaptability  of 
the  American  character.  He  settled  him 
self —  he,  the  denizen  of  the  prairie,  the 
product  of  the  steppes — in  his  new  habita 
tion,  a  New  England  stable,  with  a  calmness 
that  commanded  admiration.  Fear  does  not 
appear  to  enter  his  breast,  nor  is  he  daunted 
by  captivity.  He  seems,  indeed,  to  be  of 
the  school  of  ascetic  Brahmins,  and  appar 
ently  to  regard  fate  as  invincible. 

"  We'll  take  him  out  after  dinner  for  the 
first  time,"  said  D.  "  It's  so  hot  he'll  not  be 
noticed,  anyway,  but  it's  just  as  well  to  have 
the  friendly  cover  of  night." 

This  remark  is  noted  because  it  is  one  of 


D.'s  boasts  that  he  is  indifferent  to  public 
opinion,  but  the  truth  is  he  is  one  of  those 
people  who  has  so  persistently  condemned 
certain  weaknesses  in  others  that  he  has 
acquired  the  reputation  of  freedom  from 
these  weaknesses,  and  with  freedom,  liberty 
to  indulge  in  them.  In  consideration  of  his 
feelings,  therefore,  Philistina  turned  into  a 
side  street  and  made  in  the  direction  of 
Bloomfield. 

The  patient  souls  who  have  so  long  fol 
lowed  the  horseback  riders  will  follow  them 
again,  perhaps,  in  the  cool  of  evening.  The 
western  sky  was  amber,  and  the  far  re 
treated  thunder -clouds  hung  low  in  the 
north,  emitting  quick  flashes  which  revealed 
their  forms.  They  rode  by  Little  River, 
whose  smooth  surface  reflected  two  shades 
of  light,  one  from  the  water,  the  other  from 
the  lily  pads  which  bordered  it  on  both 
sides.  The  dew  was  falling,  and  the  smell 
of  new-mown  hay  scented  the  air.  The  lit 
tle  lane,  bordered  by  trees,  looked  like  the 
entrance  of  a  moonlit  causeway  where  the 
light  was  reflected  from  the  glistening  leaves 
and  the  liquid  shade  beneath  bounded  and 
narrowed  the  road.  They  heard  the  bull- 


94 


frogs  down  in  the  meadow  trumpeting  with 
a  dull,  thumping  sound,  and  the  whinny  of 
a  horse  in  a  distant  pasture,  and  the  barking 
of  dogs.  With  these  noises  were  mingled— 
subordinating  them  by  its  persistence — the 
gurgle  of  unwearied  water.  Things  looked 
large  and  out  of  proportion  in  the  half-moon 
light.  The  gray  rocks  across  the  road  might 
have  been  sleeping  elephants.  Esau's  small, 
thin  figure  assumed  gigantic  proportions. 
Philistina  trembled  when  she  thought  of  what 
a  fall  she'd  get  should  he  take  a  notion  to 
throw  her  at  that  moment  when  he  was  tall 
er  than  Worchester  with  his  head  in  the  air. 

And  his  gait  ? 

Even  thus  early  in  their  acquaintance 
Philistina  was  able  to  glory  in  his  ambition 
and  that  quality  which  is  best  described  in 
the  popular  tongue  as  "sand." 

Unlike  Shelley  at  Naples,  who  would  "  lie 
down  like  a  tired  child  and  weep  away  this 
life  of  care,"  he  held  up  his  Hapsburg  lip 
and  trotted  on.  With  no  such  self-pity  as 
wrung  from  Burns  the  cry, 

"  Thou  art  a  galling  load 
Along  a  rough,  a  weary  road 
To  wretches  such  as  I ;" 


95 


did  he  skirt  nimbly  the  outskirts  of  Asylum 
Avenue,  face  the  unfamiliar  bicycle,  and  re 
gard  with  unabashed  front  the  mysterious 
street -car.  In  his  code  of  manners  it  is 
evidently  bad  form  to  be  surprised. 

"  D.,"  said  Philistina,  in  that  dispassionate 
tone  she  has  acquired  from  her  associates 
of  the  stable-yard,  "  Esau  looks  like  a  don 
key  and  he  runs  like  one.  But  I  am  going 
to  apply  your  wisdom,  an  act  which  you 
have  left  to  me  to  do.  What  we  look  like 
really  does  not  signify  so  we  are  comfortable 
and  happy.  People  who  like  me  now  will 
like  me  just  as  much,  though  on  Esau's  back 
I  do  present  a  somewhat  absurd  appearance. 
Those  who  do  not  like  me  will  be  softened 
to  me  by  my  insignificance.  For  a  long 
time  I  wore  strings  to  my  bonnets  and  high 
collars  in  hot  weather,  and  I  suffered  many 
other  discomforts  in  cold,  for  the  sake  of 
appearing  well.  I  do  not  think  anybody 
ever  cared  a  straw  about  these  sacrifices, 
or  that  I  ever  gained  or  lost  a  friend  by 
them.  I  like  Esau,  and  I  am  going  to  ride 
him  in  the  broad  light  of  day." 

"  Philistina,"  said  D.,  "you  ought  to  be 
the  heroine  of  a  novel.  I  am  sure  you'd  be 


immensely  popular.  You  know  people  like 
renunciation — that  is,  they  like  to  see  it  in 
other  people,  and  you  always  have  the  air 
of  having  arrived  to  your  great  height  of 
moral  excellence  by  self-sacrifice.  I  saw 
you  liked  that  little  beast,  or,  rather,  I  saw 
that  you  had  made  up  your  mind  to  think 
you  liked  him,  because  he  was  the  choice  of 
your  unassisted  judgment ;  but  I  was  won 
dering  how  you  were  going  to  make  some 
thing  magnificent  out  of  it." 

"  D.,"  said  Philistina,  "  if  I  were  a  man  I 
would  not  employ  sarcasm  against  a  woman. 
Besides,  it  deceives  nobody.  Those  who 
are  wittiest  at  our  expense  are  most  infatu 
ated  about  us." 

D.  took  a  short  cut  for  -    -  Street. 

"  Summer  evenings'  sights  and  sounds 
make  me  lonesome,"  he  said,  "  and  home 
sick,  even  though  we  are  only  a  mile  off. 
You  are  always  talking  of  what  you  would 
do  if  you  were  a  man,  but  if  men  did  any  of 
the  things  women  think  they  would  do  in 
their  places,  this  world  would  be  even  more 
impossible  than  it  is  now." 


IX 


S AU  is  afraid  of  chickens.  Nay, 
do  not  start,  reader,  nor  per 
mit  contemptuous  scorn  of  his 
timidity  to  turn  your  heart 
against  this  stranger  in  your 
midst.  Rather  let  the  phenomenon  set  you 
to  thinking.  If  an  ignorant  peasant  in  a 
remote  Italian  village  can  divine  from  a  bit 
of  wood-carving  not  larger  than  your  two 
hands  the  design  of  the  altar  screen  and 
stalls  of  the  Ovieto  Cathedral,  and  from 
that  hint  restore  the  elaborate  work  of  a 
by-gone  age  in  its  entirety,  surely  you,  from 
the  simple  fact  that  the  domestic  hen  has  it 
in  her  power  to  agitate  and  even  terrify  a 
horse  fourteen  and  a  half  hands  high,  may 
reconstruct  his  past. 

And  while  we  are  about  it,  here  are  other 
confidences.  Esau  is  afraid  of  chickens  and 
of  churches,  and  of  his  own  spare  figure 
and  elongated  head,  when  he  sees  them  in 
a  pool  of  water. 

7 


As  the  clergymen  say,  let  us  reason  to 
gether  ;  when  we  set  out  to  unravel  a  mystery 
let  us  seize  the  first  thread  and  hold  on 
to  it. 

Why  is  he  afraid  of  hens,  churches,  and 
his  own  not  unusual  personality  ? 

Because  they  are  strange  to  him. 

What  part  of  the  world  could  he  have 
dwelt  in  that  such  commonplace  objects 
should  strike  terror  to  his  heart  ? 

1  confess,  reader,  that  I  am  making  a 
mystery  where  there  is  no  mystery,  again 
following  the  example  of  my  betters.  We 
all  know  Esau  is  a  Texas  mustang,  but 
these  traits,  so  naively  exhibited,  give  us 
the  same  pleasure  when  we  recognize  them 
that  a  whist-player  with  the  odd  trick  to 
his  credit  derives  in  talking  over  the  game. 
There  are  no  chickens  except  prairie-chick 
ens,  who  are  not  chickens,  on  the  Texas 
prairie  ;  there  are  no  churches  there  to  cast 
long  shadows  on  the  ground,  and  in  that 
broad  expanse  no  shallow  pools  in  which 
Esau  might  have  beheld  and  fallen  in  love 
with  his  own  features.  If  there  were  not 
already  enough  of  pathos  in  life  we  might 
afford  to  linger  over  this  little  tragedy  and 


drop  a  tear.  I  said  Esau  was  afraid  of  him 
self.  Was  it  fear  alone  ?  May  it  not  have 
been  grief,  disappointment,  wounded  vanity 
as  well  ?  Who  knows  but  that  until  that 
view  of  his  spare  form  yesterday  afternoon 
he  had  not  cherished  the  illusion  that  he 
was  an  Adonis  among  horses — that  he  may 
not  have  plumed  himself  on  his  imag 
inary  grace  and  beauty,  comparing  his 
charms  with  those  of  other  steeds  and 
secretly  rejoicing  in  his  own  superior 
merits  ? 

Well,  whatever  his  theories  in  the  past 
the  mirror  has  done  its  work  of  disillusion. 
I  do  not  know  what  effect  it  will  have  upon 
his  character.  Sadness  rather  than  bitter 
ness  will  probably  fall  upon  his  life,  for 
Esau  has  a  gentle  heart,  but  in  making  you 
this  confidence  concerning  him  I  do  not 
fear  that  I  have  done  amiss.  None  of  us 
can  ever  forget  the  moment  when  the  veil 
was  lifted  in  our  own  lives  and  we  saw  our 
selves  for  the  first  time  as  we  really  are. 
In  that  hour  of  self-revelation  our  little  as 
sumptions  of  superiority,  our  small  vanities 
were  not  only  exhibited  with  unsparing 
candor,  but,  as  we  afterwards  learn  to  be- 


lieve,  with  exaggerated  distinctness.  The 
impression  remains  clear-cut  and  vivid  in 
our  consciousness,  so  vivid  that  I  feel  I  need 
no  more  apologize  for  Esau's  personal  de 
fects,  now  that  he  is  conscious  of  them  and 
deplores  them.  We  have  all  suffered  the 
same  disillusioning  process,  and  we  are 
united  to  him  by  the  tie  of  sympathy. 

Philistina  has  been  riding  alone;  it  would 
not  have  been  alone  if  she  had  ridden  Dol 
ly.  There  are  people  who  do  not  talk  who 
are  very  pleasantly  felt,  but  Esau  is  not  re 
sponsive.  She  rode  towards  Farmington 
yesterday  afternoon,  and  after  she  was  re 
mote  from  cities  and  men  she  turned 
into  a  country  road  lined  on  either  side 
with  golden-rod.  It  was  their  first  sight  of 
this  autumnal  flower,  this  signal  of  the  go 
ing  of  summer,  and  Philistina  drew  rein 
and  looked  at  it  with  a  melancholy  interest, 
and  so  pervaded  was  she  with  sadness  at 
the  thought  (borrowed  from  D.'s  note-book) 
of  how  small  a  part  of  time  they  share  who 
are  so  wondrous  bright  and  fair  that  she 
sighed  aloud.  Esau,  who  the  moment 
his  pace  was  slackened  began  to  eat  grass, 
looked  up,  and  though  I  will  not  affirm 


101 


that  he  said  anything,  his  glance  of  inquiry 
was  so  plainly,  "  What  did  you  do  that  for  ?" 
that  Philistina  realized  his  sex  and  went  to 
explaining. 

"  I  don't  really  care  about  golden-rod, 
Esau,"  she  said.  "  I  consider  it  a  very  much 
over-praised  flower.  It  has  a  disagreeable 
odor  in  the  first  place,  and  that  yellow  green 
never  appealed  to  me.  I  sentimentalized 
about  it  because  all  the  artists  and  the  poets 
make  it  a  subject  of  romance.  When  I  get 
time,  Esau,  I  am  going  to  write  an  essay  on 
the  value  of  individual  opinion,  which  will 
— will  probably  occasion  the  writing*  of 
other  essays  to  refute  me.  That  is  really 
all  the  influence  one  has  in  essay  writing 
nowadays.  We  are  very  odd  creatures,  we 
mortals,  and  not  very  different  from  the 
people  who  hunted  the  Snark  or  went  off  to 
sea  with  the  Teapot  and  The  Quangle  Wan 
gle.  We  look  at  a  nickel  before  taking  it 
or  passing  it  lest  it  prove  false,  but  we  never 
dream  of  doing  so  much  by  our  opinions, 
but  accept  them  and  pass  them  on,  false  or 
true,  as  may  happen.  There  is  nothing 
more  astonishing  than  the  way  we  let  other 
people  decide  whether  a  thing  is  to  us  beau- 


tiful  or  unsightly.  Now,  there  is  no  beauty 
except  a  subjective  beauty,  just  as  there  is 
no  reasoning  a  man  into  being  good  except 
by  giving  him  a  sense  within  himself  of  the 
beauty  of  goodness.  These  things  rest  in 
our  own  souls,  the  standard  is  set  within 
ourselves." 

Did  Esau  understand  or  care  ?  If  he  did 
not,  Philistina  was  not  worse  off  than  other 
preachers  to  any  Sunday  morning  audience. 

An  old  tar  would  have  described  yester 
day  as  "quiet  weather;"  the  sky  wrapped 
itself  in  masses  of  woolly  white  clouds,  the 
blue  line  of  the  hills  as  evening  came  on 
grew  to  beaten  steel,  and  where  a  band  of 
purple  sank  into  a  rosy  mist,  a  thin  gray 
veil  was  overspread  and  tempered  the  color 
to  a  misty  harmony.  Hartford  was  buried 
down  there  in  the  hollow  of  the  green  trees. 
Philistina  looked  back,  and  looking  back 
she  also  looked  into  the  coming  years.  So 
shall  we  one  day  behold  life,  as  if  we  stood 
upon  a  high  hill  and  it  was  a  little  village 
below  where  we  had  rested  a  while.  And 
from  the  hill  we  can  see  the  paths  and  turns, 
the  stretch  of  sun,  the  steep  ascent,  the 
pleasant  valley.  What  was  obscure,  is  clear 


103 


and  plain,  now  we  view  it  from  a  height. 
And  the  village  which,  small  as  it  was,  was 
yet  so  large  that  we  were  lost  in  it,  unknown 
and  undesired,  what  a  little  place  to  work 
and  puzzle  in !  No  wonder  it  was  meant 
just  for  a  station  of  a  day  now  we  have 
come  to  this — to  this  ! 

They  turned  into  the  woods,  and  suddenly 
the  silence  of  the  fields  was  broken  by  the 
crickets  singing  in  the  grass.  They  made 
as  much  noise  as  a  colony  of  blackbirds. 
The  clear  ring  in  their  creak  tells  just  as 
plainly  as  the  golden-rod  that  we  are  on 
the  heels  of  autumn. 

Philistina  thought  until  she  began  these 
horseback  rides  that  she  knew  something 
of  wild  flowers,  but  every  day  she  brings 
back  an  unfamiliar  species,  which  she  and 
the  botany  books  are  set  to  the  task  of 
naming. 

Yesterday  she  found  butter-and-eggs,  toad 
flax,  johnswort,  prunella,  cool  in  the  grass, 
snake-mouthed  arethusa,  and  countless  va 
rieties  of  asters.  Seeing  them  growing  in 
such  grace  and  beauty  and  a  certain  fragile 
delicacy  and  loveliness  in  the  fields,  made 
her  long  to  take  them  home,  and  she  won- 


104 


dered  why  people  cultivated  flowers  wherv 
every  meadow  and  fence  corner  yield 
grasses  and  blossoms  that  for  form  and 
color  (that  is,  a  certain  tender,  spiritual 
quality  of  hue)  put  the  greenhouse  and 
garden  plants  to  shame.  She  found  out 
why  when  she  had  got  them  arranged  in 
vases.  All  the  tender  blues  and  lavenders 
faded,  the  slender  grasses  drooped,  the 
green  things  paled  and  withered.  You 
can  no  more  expect  a  mass  of  field  flowers 
to  adapt  themselves  to  a  Sevres  vase  than 
you  can  expect  Pocahontas  to  look  beauti 
ful  in  a  London  gown.  Take  things  from 
their  native  environment  and  you  rob  them 
of  their  charm.  In  fact,  environment  is  so 
much  an  element  of  beauty  that  they  can 
not  be  judged  apart.  Who  would  have  the 
"  Venus  of  Milo  "  in  her  living-room?  It  is 
not  so,  however,  with  a  mental  or  a  moral 
quality,  which  is  always  independently 
beautiful  and  desirable.  Love  nature  as 
we  will,  in  matters  like  these  we  see  how 
infinitely  higher  is  the  spiritual  world. 

When  they  came  out  of  the  wood  they 
met  a  young  girl  walking  with  a  person 
who,  in  their  romantic  mood,  Esau  and 


Philistina  decided  must  be  her  young  man. 
She  was  a  slight,  dark  girl,  and  she  had  on 
a  white  dress.  At  the  fence  corner  she 
stopped  and  gathered  a  bunch  of  golden- 
rod  and  pinned  it  on  her  shoulder.  The 
gold  of  the  flower  brought  out  the  warmth 
and  richness  of  her  dark  cheek.  It  glowed 
to  beauty.  I  don't  suppose  she  gave  herself 
a  thought  about  the  responsibility  of  this 
act.  How  many  women  consider  that  on  the 
slender  thread  of  their  personal  attractions 
hangs  the  very  existence  of  a  human  future. 
Philistina  was  reading  Herbert  Spencer 
the  other  day,  and  she  came  to  the  conclu 
sion  that  the  tie  of  a  ribbon,  the  arrange 
ment  of  a  waving  lock  which  has  swayed 
the  choice  of  a  doubting  gallant,  is  one  of 
the  most  serious  things  in  life,  because  that 
pinch  of  the  curling- iron,  or  turn  of  the 
milliner's  fingers  gives  a  race  to  the  world 
which  otherwise  never  would  have  ex 
isted. 

And  was  this  solitary  ride  altogether  en 
joyable  ?  At  least,  she  thought  her  own 
thoughts  and  spoke  her  own  words  without 
contradiction  or  ridicule  ;  but  when  a  wom 
an  talks,  and  a  man  does  not  say  anything, 


io6 


she  cannot  be  sure  that  his  silence  is  all  ad 
miration.  Esau  may  have  been  entirely 
disapproving  had  he  the  means  to  commu 
nicate  his  thoughts. 


X 


HESE  horseback  rides  around 
Hartford  were  all  very  well, 
but  they  were  really  meant  as 
a  preparation  for  a  journey 
D.  and  Philistina  had  long 
planned  to  take.  When,  finally,  the  day 
arrived,  they  started  in  fine  feather,  Esau 
leading  the  way.  They  had  talked  horse 
and  horseback  trip  right  along  for  two 
months,  and  had  made  plans  and  unmade 
them,  and  it  is  not  complained  that  friends 
or  neighbors  were  lacking  in  either  sympa 
thy  or  advice. 

For  many  a  day  before  they  set  out  peo 
ple  used  to  come  to  see  them  and  tell  them 
where  to  go,  and  make  out  routes  for  them, 
and  give  them  hints  as  to  the  care  of  their 
horses.  If  they  had  taken  all  the  advice 
they  got  they'd  have  spent  the  first  night  at 
seven  different  places — namely,  Farmington 
and  Simsbury  and  Avon  and  New  Hartford, 
Collinsville,  Barkhamsted  Light-house,  and 


io8 


Riverton.  If  they'd  pleased  everybody  they'd 
have  strapped  their  packs  in  front  of  the 
saddle,  at  the  left  side,  the  right,  the  back, 
and  they'd  have  had  a  dozen  styles  of  bags. 
They'd  have  fed  Esau  all  the  way  from 
three  to  twelve  quarts  of  oats  a  day,  and 
washed  his  back  at  night  with  electric  oil,  hot- 
water,  cold-water,  alcohol,  Pond's  extract, 
whiskey-and-water,  and  Lubin's  cologne. 

If  those  people  had  taken  all  the  warn 
ings  they  got,  they  wouldn't  have  stirred 
outside  their  front  door,  or  would  have 
given  themselves  up  for  broken -necked, 
crippled,  maimed ;  but  if  they  had  stayed 
at  home  they'd  have  had  to  encounter  the 
counter-current  of  derision  for  missing  such 
a  good  time  because  they  didn't  go.  Friends 
—  enemies  maybe  —  told  them  August  was 
the  month  for  the  trip,  Berkshire  the  coun 
try  to  ride  through  on  horseback. 

Dear,  dear,  what  a  task  to  try  to  please 
everybody,  everybody  going  different  ways. 

Like  most  people,  they  pleased  them 
selves,  and  at  eleven  o'clock  of  a  Wednes 
day  morning  they  cantered  out  of  Forest 
Street,  all  the  sidewalk  lined  with  neigh 
bors  and  friends  waving  adieu. 


log 


Stay,  no  more  than  they,  can  the  reader 
of  this  chronicle  start  off  without  delays. 

Every  arrangement  had  been  completed 
the  night  before.  There  were  three  horses 
and  three  people  to  go :  Diana,  who  was  a 
city  friend  of  theirs  and  Philistina's  men 
tor,  Philistina  and  D.,  Sunday,  Esau,  and 
Jack  the  Sailor. 

Sunday  is  a  New  Yorker,  a  bob  -  tailed, 
high-stepping  bay ;  Esau  has  already  oc 
cupied  space  in  these  pages  ;  Jack  is  an 
aristocratic  and  handsome  saddle-horse.  D. 
and  Philistina  bought  their  beasts  for  econ 
omy's  sake,  expecting  to  make  the  expenses 
of  the  trip  in  reselling  them.  The  people 
they  bought  them  from  advised  them  in  the 
most  disinterested  manner  to  take  this  far- 
sighted  policy. 

They  got  up  long  before  day :  this  was  to 
please  the  neighbors,  who  told  them  they 
must  start  before  it  got  hot,  but  it  is  one 
thing  to  get  ready  and  another  to  be  ready. 
The  women  were  all  dressed,  bonneted  and 
gloved,  and  trembling  with  excitement  by 
six  o'clock.  Then  they  had  to  sit  down 
while  Diana  read  aloud  Emerson  on  "  Self 
Control  "  for  Philistina's  discipline. 


It  was  on  account  of  D.  He  had  been 
spurring  up  everybody  within  a  radius  of 
five  miles  to  get  ready,  whether  they  were 
going  or  not,  and  prognosticating  that  two 
women  would  never  be  able  to  leave  the 
house  till  the  day  after  they  said  they  would, 
when  suddenly,  at  the  last  moment,  he  dis 
covered  he  had  things  to  do. 

He  shut  himself  up  in  a  room,  admitting 
only  male  visitors,  one  at  a  time.  He  prob 
ably  wrote  the  President's  inaugural  for  him 
during  these  long  hours  ;  perhaps  he  learned 
the  Meisterschaff  system  of  speaking  Ger 
man,  he  had  plenty  of  time  to  do  both. 

Day  broke,  boiled,  sizzed,  Philistina  fret 
ted,  and  Diana  looked  gratified.  "  They  are 
all  alike,"  she  said  ;  "  all  men  are  inconsist 
ent  and  childish.  Now,  Philistina,  I  want 
you  to  be  a  woman." 

"  Dear  me,  Diana,"  said  Philistina,  "  that's 
easy  enough.  I  knew  you  were  rather  ex 
acting,  and  I  thought  you  expected  me  to 
be  a  man." 

"A  man,  indeed  !"  said  Diana,  looking  at 
her  bracelet  watch.  "You  don't  imagine 
I'd  take  the  responsibility  of  going  on  a 
horseback  tour  with  two  of  them,  do  you  ?" 


"  But  what  do  you  suppose  he  is  doing?" 
questioned  Philistina. 

"Doing?  Why,  trying  on  his  clothes," 
said  Diana,  promptly.  "  People  who  know 
them — wives  and  mothers,  you  know — tell 
me  when  they  shut  themselves  up  that's 
what  they  are  always  doing.  I'm  glad,  Phil 
istina,  you  don't  care  what  you  look  like." 

Philistina  moved  a  little  uneasily.  She 
had  on  a  riding -skirt,  a  linen  shirt,  and  a 
soft  felt  hat.  It  was  a  trying  costume,  but 
she  had  hoped  it  was  becoming,  as  people 
generally  do,  no  matter  what  liberties  they 
take  with  their  appearance. 

"  You  look  as  if  you  cared  enough  for 
what  you  'look  like,'  "  she  said,  a  little  bit 
terly,  for  Diana  wore  one  of  the  great  Bon 
Ton's  habits,  and  was  very  taut  and  elegant 
in  her  equestrian  array,  but  she  looked 
down  and  smiled  with  contemptuous  indif 
ference  on  her  slim  figure. 

"  I  get  myself  into  what  they  send  me,  and 
that's  the  end  of  it,"  she  said.  "Don't  put 
on  a  veil,  Philistina,  it  looks  vain.  Women 
used  to  do  those  affected  things,  but  we 
know  better  now ;  and  do  keep  in  mind  that 
you  have  got  to  be  an  example." 


With  counsels  like  these,  the  moments, 
sandwiched  with  philosophy,  were  whiled 
away.  D.  came  down  at  eleven  o'clock ; 
they  did  mount,  did  start,  and  finally  got 
on  the  road. 

It  is  just  as  well  to  put  on  record  here 
that  bets  on  Esau,  as  the  favorite,  were 
large  and  universal.  He  was  so  plain,  so 
unassuming,  that  he  carried  a  certificate  of 
good  standing  in  his  every  attitude. 

"The  little  fellow'll  outlast  the  lot,"  were 
the  last  cheering  words  that  echoed  from 
the  last  neighbor's  stable,  as  Philistina  can 
tered  out  of  sight  of  home  amid  parting  di 
rections. 

It  was  a  hot  day,  but  the  sun  was  veiled 
with  a  thin  cloud  of  haze  that  hinted  at 
coming  drouth  and  dustiness  rather  than 
rain.  The  summer  greenness,  after  they 
got  into  the  country,  was  just  beginning  to 
change  into  russet,  yellow,  and  scarlet  tints. 
Holiday  time  had  come  to  the  growing 
plants.  The  tiny  village  of  Avon  was  to  be 
their  first  stopping-place  for  lunch.  Esau 
led  the  way,  for  three  horses  cannot  go 
abreast,  and  that  bold  spirit,  incased  in  a 
small,  unsightly  frame,  was  Columbustian 


in  its  pioneer  qualities.  The  big  horses' 
long  walk  was  too  much  for  him,  but  his 
unbroken  single-foot  put  them  in  the  rear. 
They  got  to  Avon  in  two  hours,  lunched 
there,  and  started  at  about  4  P.M.  for  New 
Hartford. 

A  word  about  roads.  The  people  in  Avon 
are  an  intelligent  and  kindly  race.  They 
always  vote  the  straight  ticket,  but  they 
cannot  tell  the  passing  traveller  how  to  get 
anywhere. 

It  was  this  way.  New  Hartford  was  the 
nearest  stopping -place  for  the  night,  but 
they  must  avoid  the  railroad  if  possible,  and 
the  thing  was  to  get  a  country  path  undis 
turbed  by  trains. 

They  went  over  to  the  store,  where  half 
a  dozen  men,  middle-aged  and  aged,  were 
settling  the  affairs  of  state  by  discussion, 
and  asked  a  way  to  New  Hartford  that 
avoided  the  railroad. 

"  Well,  you  go  up  the  road  a  piece,"  said 
one  man,  "and  look  at  the  sign-board,  and 
then  turn  to  the  right  and  go  two  miles,  and 
that  brings  you  to  the  Devil's  passway— two 
miles  close  to  the  track  over  the  river  on 
the  other  side." 

8 


"  But  we  want  to  avoid  that,"  said  D., 
very  slowly  and  calmly.  "  We  want  to  get 
to  New  Hartford  without  riding  longside 
the  track." 

"Then  you  go  to  the  next  village  and  turn 
to  the  right,"  said  an  aged  man  with  a  quid 
of  tobacco  in  his  mouth,  "and  go  down  a 
piece  on  the  left,  and  you'll  come  to  the 
Devil's  passway,  and  you  go  along  that  two 
miles  and  then — " 

"That's  what  I  want  to  avoid,"  said  D. 
He  looked  red  and  talked  very  loud,  as  if 
his  auditor  was  deaf. 

Philistina  knew  the  signs  and  proposed  to 
take  a  walk,  but  Diana  opened  her  reticule 
and  took  out  three  small  pellets. 

"  For  violent  excitement,"  she  read  the 
directions  in  a  low  but  clear  voice,  "  take 
one  of  No.  3.  For  increased  ditto,  threat 
ening  apoplexy,  one  of  No.  7.  You  must  give 
them  to  him,  Philistina,  they  are  a  specific; 
but  watch  your  chance.  I  despise  tact,  but 
that  is  the  way  we  will  have  to  begin." 

Philistina  nodded.  Already  she  divined 
that  it  was  best  to  agree  to  propositions  if 
not  to  carrying  them  out. 

A  tall  man  with  his  beard  cut  away  under 


his  chin, leaving  mouth  and  cheeks  bare,  now 
took  his  feet  from  the  topmost  round  of  the 
porch  where  they  had  doubtless  obstructed 
the  view,  and,  without  looking  at  D.,  re 
marked  to  his  neighbor, 

"  He  might  go  through  Barkhamsted 
Light-house.  It's  six  miles  out  of  the  way 
on  an  awful  piece  of  road,  but  if  he's  a  mind 
to  get  away  from  the  cars  that'll  do  it." 

The  individual  addressed  laughed. 

"  Barkhamsted  Light-house  's  clean  out  of 
the  world,"  he  said ;  "  it's  about  the  farthest 
place  you  ever  got;  but  if  he's  hunting  sce 
nery,  I  guess  he'll  get  it  going  over  them 
hills." 

"  It  looks  to  me  as  if  you  people  were 
pretty  good-natured,"  said  D.,  "to  let  the 
railroad  run  longside  your  highway  two 
miles,  and  the  same  highway  be  crossed 
three  times  by  the  track  between  here  and 
New  Hartford ;  it  kills  a  lot  of  people  and 
frightens  a  lot  of  horses ;  but  as  you  could 
help  it  if  you  wanted  to,  I  suppose  it's  all 
right." 

This  sarcastic  comment  was  made  after 
they  had  mounted  their  horses,  for  the  Avon 
people  are  doubtless  like  the  rest  of  the 


n6 


world,  they  prefer  their  own  inconveniences 
to  other  people's  comforts,  and  there  was  a 
plenty  of  opportunity  to  make  the  same 
remark  about  the  railroad  before  the  horse 
back  party  got  through  their  trip. 

There  is  no  use  in  trying  to  make  anoth 
er  person  understand  about  that  afternoon, 
for  there  really  never  was  or  never  will  be 
another  just  like  it,  though  the  same  remark 
can  be  made  about  any  afternoon  in  the 
year,  for  Nature  never  repeats  herself ;  there 
will  be  a  different  setting  of  the  clouds, 
darker  or  lighter  shadows  on  the  green 
slopes,  a  changing  glory  in  the  sky. 

But  it  was  nearing  five  o'clock,  and  no 
Barkhamsted  Light-house  in  view.  When 
we  in  our  short-sightedness  fret  at  little  in 
terruptions,  we  would  do  well  to  remember 
that  most  of  the  good  things  that  happen  to 
us  come  about  through  some  accidental,  per 
haps  unwelcome,  circumstance.  Philistina 
and  Esau  both  wanted  to  drink,  and,  though 
D.  and  Diana  were  cross  at  having  to  stop, 
stop  they  did  at  a  pretty  brick  house  by  the 
river-side,  where  there  was  a  stone  trough 
and  a  well-sweep  and  a  pleasant-faced  man 
digging  potatoes  in  his  garden. 


"  Do  you  know  any  way  we  can  get  to 
New  Hartford  without  going  through  the 
Devil's  passway?"  asked  Philistina,  after  he 
had  given  her  a  drink  out  of  a  cool  gourd. 

She  knew  that  her  persistent  habit  of  ask 
ing  questions  was  ill-bred  and  childish,  but 
the  individual  who  is  unencumbered  with 
a  reputation  for  good  sense  or  good  man 
ners  has  acquired  liberty. 

"  We  are  going  through  Barkhamsted 
Light-house,"  said  D.,  decisively.  "  Philis 
tina,  I  wish  you  wouldn't— 

"You'll  go  six  miles  out  of  your  way  if 
you  do,"  said  the  man,  "  and  I  can  show 
you  a  way  through  Nigger  Hill  that's  a 
chance  better.  There's  a  track  to  cross, 
and  the  freight  trains  —  well,  we  can't 
count  on  when  they  won't  come  ;  but  you'll 
have  to  cross  tracks  no  matter  where  you 
go.  That's  a  strange  idea  you've  got  about 
Barkhamsted  Light-house." 

"  Six  men  at  Avon  told  me,"  said  D. 

The  man  shook  his  head. 

"  Them  town  people,"  he  said,  contemptu 
ously — but  Philistina,  wise  in  her  day,  did 
not  even  smile. 

The  new  way  proved  very  pleasant. 


n8 


Nigger  Hill,  despite  its  unromantic  name, 
is  a  picturesque  ascent,  and  looking  from  its 
height  there  are  strips  of  meadow-land  and 
a  line  of  blue  hills,  with  stretches  of  pine 
and  beech  forest.  They  went  well  into  the 
woods  after  that  and  began  to  climb.  The 
sun  shone  in  long  rays  of  gold  through  the 
thick  foliage,  and  the  birds  were  chattering 
as  if  in  consultation  as  to  where  to  spend 
the  winter.  How  glad  the  horseback  riders 
were  that  they  had  done  talking  over  plans 
to  go  away.  The  Farmington  River  ran 
swiftly  in  its  rocky  bed  beneath  ;  they  saw 
it  gleam  through  a  thicket  of  young  pitch- 
pines  and  white  birches  that  grew  from  the 
hill-side  to  its  banks,  and  above  all  the 
wood  noises  they  heard  its  continuous  mur 
mur.  It  was  like  a  human  voice,  and  took 
away  all  sense  of  loneliness.  I  mean  the 
loneliness  that  oppresses  the  heart  and 
makes  one  feel  the  irresponsiveness  of  Nat 
ure.  It  is  difficult  in  these  days  of  scep 
ticism  to  make  any  statement  that  wrill  not 
be  controverted,  but  I  think  the  people 
who  live  by  rivers  are  much  more  cheer 
ful  than  those  who  dwell  on  mountain 
heights  or  in  parts  of  the  country  distant 


from  flowing  streams.  There  is  a  sense  of 
companionship  in  the  ripple  of  the  waves 
and  of  communication  with  the  world  in 
the  flow  of  the  water,  and  the  people  who 
live  by  rivers  are  not  remote  from  the  busy 
scenes  of  life,  for  the  river  flowing  to  the 
sea  bears  the  spirit  of  the  dweller  by  its 
side  upon  its  breast  to  the  remotest  shores. 

"  Now,"  said  D.,  when  they  came  to  a  great 
stone  trough  covered  with  moss  and  half 
buried  in  ferns,  whose  clear  waters  flowed 
from  a  thicket  of  sweet  fern  and  fringed 
orchids,  "aren't  you  sorry  you  and  Esau 
took  your  drink  down  in  the  meadow  in 
stead  of  waiting  for  this  ?" 

Philistina  might  have  said  if  she  had  not 
taken  her  drink  in  the  meadow  D.  would 
not  have  taken  his  here ;  but  she  chose  a 
better  way,  both  she  and  Esau  drank  again 
undisturbed  by  past  libations. 

"  He  is  the  toughest  little  fellow  I  know," 
said  D.,  after  a  somewhat  difficult  ascent 
of  the  mountain,  when  they  came  in  sight 
of  New  Hartford.  Philistina  smiled  con 
tentedly,  "  He  could  not  be  so  plain  for 
nothing,"  she  said,  with  the  wisdom  of  ex 
perience. 


XI 


HEY  would  have  got  to  New 
Hartford  hours  before  if  it 
had  not  been  for  Esau's  ap 
petite.  Whether  he  inherited 
the  peculiarities  of  his  great 
namesake  or  only  imitated  them  I  do  not 
know ;  at  any  rate,  there  was  a  strange 
likeness  between  them,  and  an  almost  un 
canny  appropriateness  in  the  appellation 
Esau. 

Esau  was  not,  it  is  true,  tempted  to  barter 
his  birthright  for  a  mess  of  pottage,  but  I 
am  sure  he  would  any  day  have  sold  his 
good  name,  graven  in  so  elaborate  a  fash 
ion  along  the  length  of  his  body,  for  a 
mouthful  of  grass;  for  although  he  had 
eaten  with  enthusiasm  at  7  A.M.,  and  with 
rapture  at  i  p.  M.,  of  all  the  delicacies 
included  in  a  horse's  bill  of  fare,  by  five 
o'clock  he  began  to  seek  refreshments  in 
every  fence  corner  and  along  the  grassy 
road,  and  stop  and  browse  he  would,  though 


Philistina  coaxed  and  urged  and  finally  ap 
plied  her  thread  of  a  whip  to  his  back.  Not 
an  inch  would  he  stir,  as  indifferent  to  tears 
and  prayers  as  a  marble  bust  of  Pallas. 

Whenever  these  stoppages  occurred,  D. 
would  call  out  in  stentorian  tones :  "  Why 
don't  you  come  on,  PhilistiiYa  ?"  and  wait 
for  a  reply,  although  the  reason  of  her  tar 
rying  was  as  obvious  to  him  as  to  her. 

"  What  do  you  suppose  men  always  ask 
you  why  for,  when  they  know  just  as  well  as 
you  do,  Diana  ?"  queried  Philistina,  when 
Esau  and  Sunday  next  rode  abreast. 

"  Oh,  it  is  simply  the  old  tyrannical  nature 
asserting  itself,"  said  Diana.  "  They  require 
either  a  reason  or  an  excuse,  on  the  prin 
cipal  that  some  people  consider  a  lie  from 
an  inferior  an  apology." 

It  was  in  front  of  a  small  white  house 
with  green  blinds  that  Esau  next  paused 
for  refreshments,  the  grass  growing  thick 
and  green  from  the  edge  of  the  road  to  the 
little  rail-fence.  A  lady  was  sitting  on  the 
porch  making  a  worsted  antimacassar  by  the 
light  of  the  mackerel  sky,  and  it  would  have 
seemed  to  a  looker-on  that  her  innocent 
and  primitive  employment  would  have  put 


her  in  sympathy  with  the  simple  bucolic 
pair.  What,  then,  was  Philistina's  surprise 
when  she  heard,  in  a  distinct  though  sweet 
and  even  tone,  "I  don't  suppose  father  'd 
object." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Philistina,  be 
wildered. 

"  I  don't  suppose"  a  little  doubtfully,  "  fa 
ther  'd  object.  You  see  that  is  rightly  his 
grass  your  horse  is  eating.  I  don't  really 
suppose — I'm  not  a  resident  here  myself. 
I'm  married  and  live  in  Meriden.  I've  a 
carriage  and  horse  of  my  own.  I  enjoy  go 
ing  out  riding  very  much.  I'm  not  a  resi 
dent  here.  I'm  just  visiting,  myself." 

"  I  hope  you'll  have  better  luck  than  I've 
had  if  you  should  happen  to  let  him  browse 
on  the  highway  in  front  of  a  house  when 
you  are,  as  you  say,  going  out  riding,"  said 
Philistina,  suavely,  pulling  up  Esau  with  a 
jerk  that  really  set  him  going,  though  as  a 
matter  of  history  he  went  with  his  mouth 
full  of  the  disputed  grass.  One  would  like 
to  know  more  about  this  economical  soul ; 
it  would  not  be  uninteresting  to  trace  her 
future  career,  which  if  thrift  insures  suc 
cess  will  be  high  up  in  the  millionaires. 


123 


The  white  and  dusty  road  begins  to  be 
dotted  at  near  intervals  with  little  white 
houses,  the  yards  grow  smaller,  and  the 
number  of  children  playing  before  the  doors 
increase.  The  highway  has  become  a  street. 
These  little  houses  are  not  pretty,  but  they 
are  cheerful  and  neat,  and  the  plot  in  front 
is  generally  crowded  with  flowers — grown 
together  with  no  sort  of  eye  to  color  or  ar 
rangement,  but  in  hearty  luxuriance.  The 
similarity  of  the  houses  tells  that  New 
Hartford  is  a  manufacturing  village,  and 
these  are  the  homes  of  the  hands,  though 
now  and  then  a  more  ambitious  one, 
with  towers  and  colored  paint,  points  to 
what  joys  the  ordinary  workman  may  at 
tain  who  becomes  a  manager  or  a  fore 
man. 

Philistina  pretended  to  smile  at  the  am 
bitious  colored  shingles  and  the  mediaeval 
towers  of  wood  painted  pink  and  yellow 
as  unheard  -  of  atrocities,  but  D.  reproved 
her  sharply  with  the  reminder  that  not  a 
dozen  years  ago  she  thought  them  the  su 
preme  architectural  expression  of  beauty ; 
for  good  taste  is  not  as  instinctive  as  we 
would  like  to  think  it,  and,  unlike  the  king- 


T24 


dom  of  Heaven,  comes  by  observation  and 
not  by  spiritual  gift. 

Among  our  pale-faced  country  people 
they  noted  any  number  of  curly-headed, 
dark-eyed  children  and  blowsy,  bonnetless 
women,  whose  strange  tongues  and  cos 
tumes  seemed  oddly  incongruous  in  the 
sweet,  clean  New  England  village. 

"They  have  got  here  then,  have  they?" 
said  Diana,  regretfully.  Diana's  Christian 
charity  does  not  include  the  Russian  Jew. 

The  horseback  riders  had  all  the  feel 
ing  of  foreigners  themselves,  or  rather  of 
Americans  in  a  foreign  city,  when  they 
rode  up  to  the  low  white  house  with  the 
green  shutters,  the  only  house  of  entertain 
ment  they  saw  in  the  village,  and  the  maids 
and  the  stable-boys  ran  out,  and  the  propri 
etor  in  the  doorway  advanced  and  invited 
them  to  descend.  There  was  something 
quite  old  world,  too,  in  his  attitude ;  a 
deprecating  manner  in  speaking  of  his 
house. 

"  Just  an  old-fashioned  place,  you  see,"  he 
said,  rubbing  his  hands.  "  A  country  inn, 
but  clean  beds  and  a  bit  of  hot  supper." 

Philistina  in  an  instant  was  the  repro- 


125 


duction  of  her  English  great-grandmother. 
"  The  rooms  will  suit  us  very  well,  no  doubt, 
my  good  man,"  she  said.  "  We  will  sup  at 
eight ;  home-brewed  ale,  a  gooseberry  tart, 
and  a  couple  of  juicy  cutlets." 

"  Didn't  he  say, '  My  lady  and  'ot  supper,' 
Diana  ?"  she  whispered,  as  they  went  up 
stairs. 

"Nonsense,  Philistina;  and  why  should 
you  want  to  think  it  old  England  when 
New  England  is  much  nicer  ?"  But  we  will 
not  say  that  his  engaging  ways,  so  unlike 
the  supercilious  indifference  of  the  hotel 
clerk  to  whom  they  were  accustomed,  did 
him  any  harm  in  the  eyes  of  his  guests. 

That  night  they  sat  in  the  moonlight  on 
the  piazza  and  talked  (with  a  certain  con 
descension  to  be  sure)  to  their  host.  He 
said  there  were  several  hundred  Russian 
Jews  in  the  town,  working  with  an  unex 
ampled  industry  at  the  mills.  These  in 
dustries  are  the  manufacture  of  rules  and 
of  sail-cloth.  Perhaps  New  Hartford  has 
the  largest  sail-cloth  manufactory  in  the 
country.  "  Listen,"  he  said,  "to  the  talk  of 
the  people  as  they  pass  ;  you'd  never  guess 
you  were  in  New  England."  They  came 


126 


slouching  by,  not  quite  the  independent 
slouch,  either,  of  our  American  workmen, 
but  with  a  sort  of  assuming  indifference  as 
to  manners.  The  women  were  bareheaded, 
the  men  in  coarse  blouses  and  trousers. 
Diana,  who  is  quick  at  languages,  caught 
Canadian  French,  Roumanian,  Swedish,  low 
and  high  German,  Polish,  Viennese  patois, 
Italian,  Yorkshire  dialect,  the  Irish  brogue, 
and  Russian. 

"  Do  they  spend  their  money  here  ?"  D. 
asked. 

Mine  host  pointed  to  a  large  brick  church 
with  a  cross  on  it  that  put  the  small  white 
meeting-house  to  shame.  "  The  Catholics 
built  that,"  he  said,  "  but  I  can't  say  the 
rest  of  them  are  members  of  the  Village 
Improvement  Society.  I  heard  a  Russian 
Jew  cursing  one  of  our  people  here  the 
other  day  because  she  didn't  give  him  what 
he  called  good  measure  for  a  cent's  worth  of 
milk.  Industrious  ?  they're  infernally  in 
dustrious  ;  they  live  on  nothing,  and  they 
can  afford  to  work  for  nothing.  They'll 
drive  us  out,  you  may  depend  !" 

They  had  not  succeeded  in  driving  one 
Yankee  out.  This  was  a  person  who,  the 


127 


horseback  riders  divined,  with  a  supernat 
ural  intelligence,  had  something  to  sell; 
though  anything  further  from  trade  than 
his  manner  would  have  been  difficult  in 
deed  to  conceive.  He  had  built  a  sort  of 
platform,  raised  and  railed  off,  and  placed 
in  the  middle  of  the  square,  and  lighted  it 
with  torches  soaked  in  oil.  He  was  a  fam 
ily  man,  and  exhibited  with  him  his  wife 
and  boy,  as  testimonials  of  his  respectable 
and  domestic  character,  and,  by  inference, 
of  the  trustworthiness  of  his  goods.  They 
sat  beside  him  very  straight  and  dignified, 
taking  his  constant  reference  to  them  as 
just  tributes  to  their  importance.  All  the 
boys  in  the  neighborhood  gathered  around 
the  railing  and  looked  at  them  with  un 
flinching  gaze,  and  a  grave  and  still  de 
light,  not  unmixed  with  hopeless  envy.  The 
fellow  would  have  made  his  fortune  in  Con 
gress  talking  against  time.  His  voice  was 
sonorous  and  far-reaching.  Not  a  reference 
did  he  make  to  the  business  he  was  engaged 
in.  He  quoted  poetry,  he  paid  his  tribute 
to  religion,  he  declared  himself  on  the  tem 
perance  question,  home,  and  "the  sweet, 
sweet  love  of  daughter,  of  sister,  and  of 


128 


wife,"  received  his  passing  tribute.  Only 
once  did  he  descend  to  the  realm  of  the 
commonplace,  and  that  occurred  when  one 
of  the  impassive  Yankee  children  who  had 
guarded  against  the  faintest  expression  of 
interest  on  his  upturned,  freckled  face  un 
warily  trod  on  a  dog.  The  dog  not  being 
bred  in  the  same  school  of  manners  where 
emotion  betrays  ill -breeding,  yelped,  and 
the  orator,  with  cruel  injustice,  attacked 
the  boy.  "  Where  were  you  raised  ?"  he  de 
manded  in  a  fine  frenzy.  "  Interrupting  a 
public  speaker  in  his  oration.  Have  you 
no  home,  no  mother  to  teach  you  better  ? 
No  mother,  boy?  Then  God  help  you  !" 

They  did  not  stay  the  oration  out,  because 
the  landlord  confided  to  them  that  Demos 
thenes  had  been  in  New  Hartford  before,  and 
was  selling  electric  oil,  not  that  he  loved  the 
seller  less,  who  he  assured  them  was  a  family 
man,  and  well  worth  patronizing,  but  what 
did  they  want  with  patent  medicines  ? 

"  The  horses  are  all  right,  of  course,"  said 
Philistina,  taking  her  candle.  The  very  act 
increased  the  illusion  of  foreign  parts,  and  she 
made  it  as  a  statement,  not  an  interrogation. 

"  Oh,  right  enough,"  said  D.,  jauntily. 


XII 

IANA,  the  innkeeper  has  just 
come  into  the  dining-room, 
and  given  me  such  a  turn  I 
really  don't  know  how  I  shall 
ever  bear  it." 
"  When  you  are  excited  like  that,  Philis- 
tina,"  said  Diana,  coldly,  "  you  are  incapa 
ble  of  conveying  information.  How  many 
times  has  Miss  Anthony  urged  us,  when  we 
are  agitated,  to  count  twenty,  and  then  say 
exactly  what  we  mean  !" 

"  Oh,  very  well,"  said  Philistina,  "  if  you 
don't  care  to  know— 

"  Good  gracious !  tell  me  this  instant. 
Was  it  anything  about  my  trunk  not  meeting 
me  here  as  we  had  arranged  ?  Why,  I  had 
my  best  hat  in  it  to  wear  in  Lenox,  Sunday ; 
the  one  with  the  feathers,  you  know — that 
nice  English  shape  that  comes  down  a  little 
over  the  forehead,  but  turns  up  in  the  back. 
Did  he  say  it  was  lost,  or  hadn't  come,  or 
what?  For  Heaven's  sake,  Philistina,  tell 

9 


I30 


me  what  he  said  ;  if  there  is  anything  wom 
en  ought  to  cultivate,  it's  clearness  and  defi- 
niteness  and  despatch.  Why  on  earth  don't 
you  tell  whether  it's  my  trunk,  and  what 
did  he  think  I'd  better  do  ?  Oh,  dear,  that 
particular  hat !  What  did  he  say — now  ?  his 
exact  words  ?  You  know  I  can't  go  down 
now  with  my  front  hair  all  in  a  state  like 
this,  and  the  iron  hot." 

"  He  said,"  said  Philistina,  slowly  and  de 
liberately,  "  Please,  my  lady— 

"  Nonsense,"  said  Diana ;  "  tell  me  at  once. 
Philistina,  I  do  hope  you're  not  going  to 
try  to  be  humorous.  You  know  Lady  Henry 
Somerset  considers  humor  the  very  next 
thing  to  coarseness.  What  did  he  say  about 
my  trunk,  and  don't  keep  anything  from  me 
in  a  false  notion  of  pity." 

"  He  said  Esau's  back  had  two  little  lumps 
on  it  just  at  the  end  of  the  backbone,"  said 
Philistina,  "and  he  thinks  it's  going  to  rise 
and  have  to  be  lanced,  and  we'd  better  sell 
him  at  once  on  the  road." 

"  Sell  him,  indeed  !"  cried  Diana ;  "  that's 
exactly  like  all  the  rest  of  them,  trying  to 
impose  on  us  because  we  are  two  lone 
women.  But  really,  Philistina,  you  ought 


not  to  be  so  sensational ;  why,  you  made  me 
think  something  dreadful  had  happened. 
I'll  be  down  there  the  minute  I  get  this  curl 
turned." 

"  But,  you  know,  we  aren't  exactly  two 
lone  women,"  persisted  Philistina  ;  "there's 
D." 

"A  stable-man  can  make  any  other  man 
think  anything  he  wants  to  have  him 
think,"  said  Diana,  "  but  don't  be  argument 
ative,  Philistina ;  you  know  that's  the  way 
with  women  who  do  the  most  harm  to  the 
Cause.  I'll  be  there  the  very  minute  I  get 
this  front  hair  " — but  D.'s  voice  calling  sent 
Philistina  away,  so  that  she  divined  rather 
than  heard  the  completion  of  the  sentence. 

She  found  Esau  munching  a  wisp  of  hay. 
There  were  a  great  many  people  about  him, 
and  all  were  giving  advice.  He  alone,  the 
victim  and  the  hero,  like  the  Duke  of  Ar- 
gyle  on  the  scaffold,  was  indifferent,  and 
even  careless  of  the  end,  looking  around 
with  an  untroubled  gaze  into  eyes  that  were 
full  of  grief.  The  hostler,  a  lively  Irishman, 
was,  I  fear,  of  a  double  nature.  He  wanted 
to  please  everybody,  and  when  the  livery- 
stable-keeper — a  tall,  gray  New-Englander, 


132 


with  a  soothing  voice — made  hopeless  prog 
nostications  as  to  the  condition  of  the  back, 
he  agreed  in  voluminous  speech,  but  by  a 
large,  taciturn  wink,  communicated  the  in 
formation  that  the  boss  was  coming  it  over 
them,  and  the  horse  would  be  fit  enough 
with  careful  riding  and  a  proper  rubbing 
down  at  night. 

"  There  is  very  little  the  matter,"  an 
nounced  Diana,  when  she  appeared,  "  but 
it  is  just  as  well  to  give  him  six  of  No.  7. 
Three  for  a  man — and  I  suppose  we  might 
double  the  dose  without  danger  to  a  horse." 

I  take  pleasure  in  recording  that  six  of 
No.  7  did  not  prove  too  large  a  dose.  Esau 
ate  them  cheerfully  out  of  Philistina's  hand, 
and  was  none  the  worse. 

"  I  hope  you'll  make  New  Boston  by 
night,"  said  the  livery-stable-man.  "  But, 
in  my  opinion,  the  little  'un's  done  for." 

The  ladies  mounted  the  horses  with  scant 
leave-taking,  but  D.  dropped  behind. 

''You've been  paying  that  hostler, haven't 
you,  D.  ?"  asked  Philistina.  "  He's  such  a 
nice,  sensible  fellow.  Did  you  see  him  wink 
so  as  to  tell  us  not  to  believe  that  disagree 
able  livery-man  ?" 


"  Yes — ah — I  saw  him,  and  I  handed  him, 
well — a  half-dollar;  poor  fellow,  that — ah — 
gesture  might  have  cost  him  his  place.  And, 
as  you  say,  he  struck  me  as  a  nice,  sensible 
man,  though  he  didn't  say  anything  to  com 
promise  himself — indeed,  I  believe  he  rather 
agreed  with  his  master,  but  he  did — ah — 
communicate  his  distrust  in  the  way  you 
mention." 

Ah,  well-a-day,  only  last  Sunday  D.  was 
laughing  at  the  man  who  found  all  his  fel 
low-beings  intelligent  and  trustworthy,  who 
divining  his  opinions  agreed  with  them. 

It  was  a  lovely  morning,  cool  and  crisp — 
at  least,  yet  a  while,  and  they  followed  the 
Farmington  River  up  hill  and  down  till  they 
again  entered  a  deep  wood  which  was  so 
high  above  the  stream  that  one  looked 
down  upon  it  from  a  precipice,  but  a  preci 
pice  whose  steep  sides  were  hidden  with 
golden -rod  and  purple -topped  iron -weed, 
and  lady's-slipper  springing  up  in  the  hol 
lows.  Close  to  the  road  velvety  willows 
waved,  and  below  their  airy  tops  was  a  vista 
of  trees,  arching  above  the  river-bank ;  the 
glimpses  of  sky  they  caught  through  the 
overlapping  tree -tops  showed  it  an  un- 


134 


clouded  blue,  and  Philistina  bethought  her 
that  it  looked  like  a  Thursday  sky,  as  it 
was — a  mid-week,  washed  and  ironed  sky, 
on  which  the  most  conscientious  of  New- 
Englanders  might  take  a  well-earned  re 
pose. 

Pleasant  Valley  lies  between  New  Hart 
ford  and  Riverton ;  it  is  a  charming  coun 
try,  more  like  one  long  street  than  a  succes 
sion  of  farms.  The  houses  are  built  close 
to  the  road,  with  dooryard  evergreens  that 
hold  them  in  close  shade  all  the  year,  and 
great  barns  that  also  show  their  broad,  low 
gables  to  the  road,  and  make  the  houses 
look  small  and  insignificant.  It  was  at  River- 
ton  they  decided  to  stop  till  the  heat  of  the 
day  was  over ;  I  do  not  know  how  far  this 
little  town  is  from  the  railroad,  but  it  looks 
remote  from  stores  and  traffic.  A  hand 
some  iron  bridge  spans  the  Farmington, 
and  then  there  is  a  long,  wide  street,  inter 
sected  by  another  street  bordered  by  elms, 
and  another  pretty  bridge  to  cross  ere  you 
come  to  the  Riverton  House,  where  man  and 
beast  are  accommodated. 

Philistina  could  scarcely  wait  for  Esau's 
saddle  to  be  removed,  so  eager  was  she  to 


135 


discover  whether  the  double  dose  of  No.  7 
had  been  injurious,  and  even  Diana  looked 
a  trifle  nervous ;  but  there  was  no  accel 
eration  of  the  size  of  the  lumps,  and  he 
was  soon  eating  his  four  quarts  of  oats 
like  a  first-born  who  had  never  been  phys 
icked  nor  lost  his  birthright. 

The  day  at  Riverton  was  full  of  a  sunny 
tranquillity,  which,  somehow  or  other,  gave 
Philistina  a  heartache,  and  yet  it  was  not 
a  heartache  she  wished  away.  They  sat 
for  a  while  in  the  parlor  of  the  inn,  a  low- 
ceiled  room  with  stiff  furniture,  which, 
while  it  was  not  old  enough  to  make  them 
covetous,  had  a  quaint  character  of  its  own, 
and  watched  the  people  pass  on  infrequent 
journeys  up  the  street  to  the  drug-store  and 
the  General  Commission.  Opening  on  the 
parlor  is  a  large  and  cheerful  room,  where 
presently  they  were  sumptuously  to  dine ; 
somehow,  it  had  the  look  of  a  ball-room, 
and  there  were  other  hospitable  apart 
ments  built  in  a  rambling  way  all  about 
the  corner  lot  the  inn  occupies,  that  sug 
gest  by -gone  gayety  when  my  lady  passed 
through  with  her  coach  and  four,  and  the 
lawyers  stopped  for  the  night  on  their  way 


136 


to  Hartford,  and  the  great  stages  with  their 
load  of  merchants  tarried  with  the  goods 
and  the  news,  bringing  the  latest  word  from 
Boston. 

Their  hostess,  however,  could  weave  them 
no  romances  of  the  past.  She  was  a  new 
comer  from  quite  a  different  neighborhood, 
which  the  riders  were  surprised  to  find 
was,  after  all,  only  three  miles  off,  but  she 
counted  herself,  and  was  quite  submissive 
to  be  counted,  a  stranger.  One  must  live  in 
a  New  England  village  at  least  a  century 
to  arrogate  to  one's  self  any  familiar  airs. 

She  told  them  there  were  two  versions 
of  the  legend  of  the  Barkhamsted  Light 
house,  an  inland  warning  to  seafarers,  that 
often  puzzled  the  travellers.  One  was  that 
the  Indians  always  kept  a  light  burning 
there  of  a  dark  night  to  induce  travellers 
to  alight,  that  they  might  fall  upon  them 
and  rob  them.  Another  was  of  a  softer 
nature.  A  certain  old  woman,  with  an  un 
canny  reputation  and  three  pretty  daugh 
ters,  nightly  lit  the  far-reaching  torch  which 
guided  the  maiden's  lovers  through  circui 
tous  ways  from  the  valley  below  to  the  hut 
on  the  hill. 


When  they  were  cooled  and  rested  they 
went  down  into  the  village,  stopping  to  lean 
over  the  pretty  bridge  and  look  at  the  gold- 
colored  water  running  in  a  rapid  stream  be 
neath.  There  is  a  factory  on  the  other  side, 
and  a  Canadian  Frenchman  with  oblique 
eyes  and  swarthy  complexion  told  them 
with  bitterness,  as  if  his  fair  province  had 
been  usurped,  that  the  Russian  Jew  was 
ousting  all  the  respectable  working  people 
out  of  Riverton.  "  Ces  scelerats!"  he  said, 
with  his  Gallic  shrug,  and  Philistina  pri 
vately  thought  the  shrug  and  the  French 
were  just  as  incongruous  in  the  dear  Puri 
tan  town  as  the  jargon  (we  instinctively  call 
all  the  languages  we  don't  understand  jar 
gon)  of  the  Russian  Hebrew. 

D.  does  not  like  graveyards,  nor  funerals, 
except  the  gay  Irish  funerals  which  some 
how  reconcile  one  to  the  inevitable  by  their 
common -sense  cheerfulness  in  view  of  so 
commonplace  a  thing  as  death  ;  but  the  Riv 
erton  graveyard,  at  least,  that  in  which  the 
pretty  stone  church  is  set,  is  really  quite  a 
cheery  little  spot,  and  Diana  and  Philistina 
had  little  trouble  in  coaxing  him  over  to  sit 
on  the  fallen  slabs  and  smell  the  sweet  gar- 


138 


den  flowers  that  were  blooming  all  about. 
The  church  is  disfigured  by  a  Grecian  tem 
ple  that  surmounts  its  solid  stone  architect 
ure  ;  but  for  this  decoration  it  would  be 
an  aesthetic  object  to  the  most  heterodox  of 
observers ;  but  D.  said  that  temple  was  as 
much  a  sign  of  orthodoxy  on  a  New  Eng 
land  Congregational  meeting-house,  of  a 
certain  period,  as  a  cross  of  the  Catholic 
belief.  There  are  inanimate  things,  you 
know,  that  are  not  of  themselves  inherently 
good  or  bad,  or  religious  or  heretical,  but 
association  has  made  them  so.  The  Greek 
temple  on  top  of  the  meeting-house  meant 
sound  doctrine. 

"  But  where  are  all  the  people  ?"  queried 
Philistina. 

"The  women  in  Riverton,"  said  D.,  "are 
doubtless  at  their  legitimate  tasks:  keeping 
their  houses." 

"  And  the  men,"  said  Diana,  scornfully, 
"  are  at  theirs :  at  the  tavern  or  the  store 
drinking  beer  and  talking  politics." 

Philistina,  who  by  this  time  had  learned 
both  to  run  with  the  hare  and  hunt  with 
the  hounds,  contented  herself  with  saying 
there  was  something  indecorous  almost  in 


139 


the  people  across  the  way  playing  tennis  in 
an  old  garden.  Tennis  in  Riverton  looked 
somehow  as  if  an  old  woman  had  arrayed 
herself  in  a  too-too  youthful  gown. 

There  were  several  tombs  whose  inscrip 
tions  they  deciphered,  but  one  they  united  in 
finding  unique.  A  wife  of  many  years'  dis 
cipline  is  commemorated  by  her  husband 
in  these  words,  after  birth  and  marriage  are 
mentioned : 

"And  on  the of  ,  1801, 

Her  spirit,  it  is  charitably  hoped, 
Took  its  flight 
To  fairer  realms  above." 

"This  is  the  only  candid  inscription  on  a 
tomb  I  have  ever  read,"  said  D.  "  The  wom 
an  was  a  virago  or  a  blue -stocking,  or  a 
poor  cook,  and  all  the  husband  could  say 
for  her  was  he  hoped  she  had  gone  to  a 
better  place.  I'm  glad  he  lived  thirty  years 
after  her.  And  the  evidence  is  strong  that 
he  was  satisfied  with  his  attempt  at  matri 
mony  and  in  no  temper  to  risk  it  again,  for 
you  see  there  was  no  tomb  to  a  second  wife. 
There  is  no  such  proof  of  a  man's  happiness 
with  his  first  wife  as  his  willingness  to  un 
dertake  another." 


140 


"  There  is  something  more  pitiful  even 
than  the  lack  of  appreciation  of  this  hus 
band,"  said  Diana,  with  flashing  eye.  "  All 
these  inscriptions  under  which  women  lie 
refer  to  their  relation  with  the  other  sex : 
4  A  dutiful  spouse,'  'An  affectionate  mother 
to  loving  sons,'  '  Her  brother's  joy,'  '  She 
shall  do  him  good  and  not  evil  all  the 
days  of  her  life,' '  Her  husband  also,  and  he 
praiseth  her.'  Now  don't  you  suppose  these 
women  had  any  personality  outside  their 
care  for  the  men  of  their  households,  and 
would  like  to  be  remembered  because  they 
were  wise,  or  prudent,  or  sensible  as  men 
are  remembered?" 

"  My  dear  Diana,"  said  D.,  "  when  these 
people  lived  and  died  they  were  under  the 
Jewish  dispensation.  The  Puritan  woman 
was  an  Oriental  in  her  attitude  towards 
men.  We  have  done  away  with  the  Jew 
ish  Sabbath,  and  we  shall  do  away —  I 
think,  indeed,  we  have  already  done  away— 
with  the  Jewish  view  of  woman  ;  let  us 
hope  we  have  come  into  the  Christian  era 
at  last." 

His  sweet  reasonableness  had  its  effect, 
and  all  three  strolled  about  the  sunny  graves 


14  i 


with  a  feeling  of  good-fellowship  as  if  they 
had  at  last  got  on  common  ground. 

"  I  wonder  why  it  does  not  frighten  one," 
said  Philistina,  at  last :  "  the  inevitableness 
of  their  fate  being  one's  own,  and  that  some 
day  this  awful  thing  must  happen  to  you 
and  to  me." 

"  It  does  not  frighten  you,"  said  D.,  "be 
cause  it  is  going  to  happen  to  me  and  to 
Diana  and.  to  every  other  living  creature, 
but  not  to  you.  Everybody  makes  himself 
the  exception,  and  this,  and  this  alone,  is 
why  you  are  not  afraid.  But  come,  we  must 
away." 

At  4  P.M.  they  cantered  out  of  Riverton. 


XIII 

HE  Farmington  River  rippled 
and  burned  and  gleamed  in 
the  sun  —  burned  a  trifle  too 
fiercely  to  suit  the  horseback 
riders  as  they  rode  along  its 
banks  to  New  Boston.  And  presently  the 
sun  set,  and  all  the  nearer  sky  looked  like  a 
sort  of  blushing  foam  that  extended  into 
waves  of  light  and  shade.  Near  the  edges 
of  the  farther  clouds  were  monoliths  and 
columns  of  coral  that  stood  out  straight 
and  fine,  and  back  of  all  was  a  far-reaching 
mystery  of  blue. 

But  it  was  a  far  cry  to  their  destination, 
and  it  seemed,  at  least  to  Philistina  and 
Diana,  as  if  New  Boston  was  as  distant  as 
the  New  Jerusalem.  By  seven  o'clock — • 
this  was  August  5th — they  began  to  ask  peo 
ple  how  far  it  was,  and  to  have  positive  likes 
and  dislikes  for  them  as  their  replies  went. 
If  a  person  said  New  Boston  was  still  far 
off,  he  was  at  once  set  down  as  an  objec- 


tionable  individual.  If  the  distance  was 
shortened,  the  reply  gave  the  answerer  a 
good  place  in  the  riders'  affections.  The 
first  woman,  a  kindly  soul,  heard  them,  when 
they  got  to  Coldbrook  and  stopped  in  front 
of  her  house,  trying  to  get  some  informa 
tion  out  of  her  son,  whose  intelligence 
spoke  badly  for  heredity  somewhere.  But 
the  riders  soon  discovered  that  the  fault 
did  not  come  from  the  maternal  side,  for 
the  mother  came  bustling  down  full  of  in 
terest  and  information.  She  was  dressing 
for  a  church  sociable,  which  term,  to  ears 
accustomed  to  "  meetings  of  the  Young  Peo 
ple's  Christian  Endeavor  Society,"  seemed 
oddly  homely,  but  she  didn't  mind  a  mite 
coming  down  just  this  way — if  they  didn't. 
As  to  telling  them  the  way,  she  guessed 
she'd  do  it  better'n  Jim.  Jim  was  the  most 
dependable  body  to  get  to  a  place  that  ever 
was,  but  he  couldn't  tell  how  he  got  there. 
He  went  to  New  Boston  every  week,  but  as 
to  showing  you,  'less  he  went  along,  he 
couldn't  do  it.  'Twas  the  way  with  a  lot 
of  good  people,  good  they  were,  and  every 
body  knew  it,  but  they  couldn't  give  any 
sort  of  experience  if  'twas  in  heaven  itself, 


144 


and  they'd  be  asked.  All  they  could  say'd 
be,  there  they  was. 

"  And  that  would  be  all  they'd  need  say, 
I  am  sure,"  said  Philistina,  sympathetically. 
The  boy  didn't  look  so  stupid  after  that, 
for  there  is  innocence  and  there  is  dulness, 
and  they  are  two  different  things. 

"  How  far  is  it  ?"  questioned  D.,  when  she 
had  given  her  clear  testimony  for  the  river 
instead  of  the  hill  road. 

"  Well,  two  miles  and  a  half,"  she  replied, 
with  an  attitude  of  sorrow  that  she  could 
not  conscientiously  make  it  less. 

"  Only  two  miles  and  a  half?"  exclaimed 
Philistina  ;  "  what  a  nice,  sensible  soul !  I 
almost  love  her." 

But  when  they  had  ridden  a  half -hour 
longer,  and  the  next  person  called  out  "  two 
miles  and  a  half — a  good  half,  too,"  both  of 
the  ladies  broke  out  in  vindictive  language. 
"  I  never  saw  a  ruder,  more  disagreeable 
man."  And  so  on  till  they  reached  New 
Boston  in  the  dim  twilight.  They  hated  the 
people  who  said  it  was  far,  and  loved  those 
who  decreased  the  distance,  not  in  the  least 
regarding  whether  they  spoke  the  truth  or 
not. 


145 


The  inn  at  New  Boston  resolved  itself 
that  night  in  a  dim  memory  of  a  dark  sta 
ble,  where  each  man  unsaddled  his  own 
beast,  and  a  long,  low  dining-room,  where 
they  ate  hot  steak  and  fried  potatoes,  and 
were  thankful.  It  was  exactly  the  dish  they 
would  have  ordered  had  they  been  at  Del- 
monico's,  because  when  there  are  three 
Americans,  beefsteak  and  potatoes  are  what 
is  always  agreed  upon.  And  yet  they  did 
not  feel  like  diners  at  Delmonico's  when  they 
went  to  their  well -served  meal,  presided 
over  by  a  lady  with  kind  eyes  and  gray 
hair  who  rejoiced  hospitably  in  their  being 
hearty.  There  are  places  I  recall  in  Paris 
and  Vienna  where  the  shabby  waiter  in  the 
worn  dress -suit  wishes  one  "  bon  appetit" 
with  a  show  of  effusion,  but  we  are  conscious 
that  one  must  pay  in  sous  or  even  francs 
for  that  shallow  compliment,  and  the  "  bon 
appetit"  is  not  so  genial  before  a  table 
d'hote  dinner  as  one  served  a  la  carte. 

They  found  next  morning  that  the  reason 
New  Boston  was  so  near  and  yet  so  far  the 
night  before  was  because  it  is  irregularly 
built,  and  the  red  lights  of  its  houses  dodge 
in  and  out  of  view  while  it  is  miles  away. 


I46 


The  best  house  and  the  church  are  well  set 
up  here,  but  the  shops,  or  rather  stores,  are 
in  the  valley,  and  New  Boston  is  so  coun 
try-like  and  so  childless  that  all  the  way 
down  from  the  hill  to  the  town  were  black 
berry-vines  covered  with  untouched  fruit. 
I  said  childless  with  a  sort  of  sigh,  for  the 
two  pretty  little  girls  who  ran  about  the  inn 
proclaimed  themselves  proudly  from  Meri- 
den,  and  their  companion,  a  boy  in  his  after 
noon  clean  shirt  and  face,  was  from  Suffield. 

"  There's  only  four  other  children  we 
know  who  live  here,"  said  the  eldest  little 
girl,  "  and  that's  one  of  them ;"  and  she 
pointed  to  a  little  girl  who  was  going  by. 
She  looked  indeed  a  country  girl  in  her 
blue  stuff  gown  made  long,  and  sewed 
stoutly  onto  the  waist.  A  real  sun-bonnet 
covered  her  head.  "  She's  taking  black 
berries  to  some  old  people  who  live  in  that 
big  house.  She  has  to  work,  but,  oh  !  she's 
a  splendid  player  when  she  does  play." 

"  Yes,  she's  a  splendid  player,"  the  chil 
dren  echoed. 

"  Henny,  Henny,  come  play !" 

But  Henny  turned  her  sturdy  little  legs 
neither  to  the  right  nor  the  left.  "  Soon  es 


147 


I  do  my  chores,"  she  answered  back,  and 
plodded  on  her  busy  way.  The  children 
Jiung  around  and  waited  aimlessly.  The 
grown  people  concluded  Henny  hadn't  a 
bad  sort  of  time,  after  all. 

Diana  and  Philistina  thought  they  had 
never  seen  such  a  stylish  young  man  as  the 
one  who  overlooked  them — he  called  him 
self  a  clerk — at  one  of  the  stores.  He  might 
as  well  as  not  have  come  out  of  a  Hebrew 
clothing-store  in  the  Bowery.  He  wore  a 
thick  bang  and  an  air  of  insolent  ease  that 
ought  to  have  put  him  in  the  first  four  of 
the  Four  Hundred.  Having  nothing  which 
they  asked  for  in  stock,  they  advised  with 
him  as  to  the  possibilities  of  the  other 
stores,  and  then  he  added  to  his  slender 
vocabulary:  "  He  knew  nothing  about  New 
Boston  nor  the  people — 'twa'n't  in  his  line." 

Dear,  dear,  what  was  his  line?  The  part 
of  Hamlet,  with  all  stars  in  the  company, 
or  that  greater  social  height,  the  head-waiter 
at  Delmonico's  ? 

Down  in  the  village  they  saw  nothing  so 
interesting  as  this  enchanted  prince,  except 
a  girl  with  a  pretty  straw-hat  on  carrying  a 
glass  of  jelly  across  the  street ;  the  waiter 


14* 


was  covered  with  a  napkin,  and  a  sprig  of 
sweet  verbena  lay  on  one  side.     The  glass 
was  long  and  narrow,  and  of  that  delicious* 
shape  they  thought  were  all  smashed  the 
day  their  grandmothers  were  buried. 

"Diana,"  said  Philistina,  "did  you  know 
anybody  ever  sent  jelly  to  sick  people  now 
adays  ?" 

"  Say  ill,  Philistina,"  said  Diana;  "we  are 
not  at  sea."  And  then  she  burst  out  with : 
"  The  dear  old  thing  !  I'd  almost  be  willing 
to  be  sick  to  have  it  brought  me,  neighbor- 
like,  as  that  is,  only  it  is  wicked,  you  know, 
to  be  ill." 

The  drive  they  presently  took,  by  the 
courtesy  of  a  Hartford  friend,  was  along  the 
river-bank ;  but  the  river's  course  was  broken 
by  huge  rocks  and  fallen  logs,  so  that  it 
poured  in  white  cascades  into  gold-colored 
pools.  On  the  opposite  side  was  a  deep 
wood  of  varied  greens.  The  near  road-side 
was  also  thick -set  with  green  growths: 
thickets  of  blackberry  bushes,  with  pennon- 
like  tops,  purple  thistle,  woodbine,  flinging 
itself  over  rocks  and  bushes  with  an  abandon 
that  bespoke  a  more  torrid  home  than  its 
present  temperate  one ;  thoroughwort,  at 


149 


which  D.  trembled.  "  They  used  to  give  it 
to  me  in  the  spring,"  he  said,  "  brewed  in 
a  strong  tea,  against  sickness.  The  better 
I  was,  more  surely  had  I  to  take  it  to  keep 
well."  I  only  tell  the  common  names  of 
the  plants,  and  that  in  some  confusion — 
there  were  knitted  banks  of  golden-rod  and 
sumach,  and  the  "false"  buckwheat  scram 
bling  on  top.  D.  looked«»vainly  for  blue 
gentians,  finding  only  one,  but  saw  rabbit's- 
foot,  and  May-weed,  shepherd's-purse,  and 
white  clover,  and  civis,  and  greenbrier  fill 
ing  in  the  chinks,  and  wild -grape  vines  so 
cunningly  intertwined  in  the  thicket  that 
they  were  constantly  calling  out  at  the 
monstrosity  of  its  bearing  mulberries  and 
kindred  fruits. 

It  gave  them  a  pang  to  see  four  comfort 
able  houses  in  succession,  two  with  good 
gardens,  where  vegetables  and  grain  were 
growing,  and  fruit-yards  with  apple-trees 
groaning  under  their  load  of  fruit,  the  doors 
and  windows  nailed  up,  the  place  deserted. 

"  Folks  gone  West,"  said  the  driver,  la 
conically. 

"  But  it's  a  terrible  life  out  West,"  said  D. ; 
"  those  great  distances  between  the  farms, 


the  cruel  winters,  the  hot  summers.  Here 
they  have  excellent  schools,  church  privi 
leges,  a  free  library,  really  cultivated  society 
in  its  best  sense,  and  these  pleasant  places 
where  comparatively  they  have  none  of  the 
discomforts  of  the  West." 

"  What  does  your  worship  know  of  farm 
ing  anywhere  ?"  ventured  Philistina. 

"  Know  !"  said-  D.  "  Why,  I  knew  about 
farming  from  my  birth  till  my  tenth  year. 
Do  you  suppose  a  man  ever  forgets  any 
thing  he  learned  then  ?" 

"  Some  places  seem  to  have  done  their 
work,"  said  the  driver,  in  defence  of  the 
emigrants  ;  "  a  new  house  would  look  smart 
and  perky  in  this  old  village,  and  you  see 
the  young  people's  passin'  off.  There's  very 
few  children  in  New  Boston.  And  when 
you've  worked  a  horse  all  its  measure  of 
days  it  ought  to  rest.  Our  grandsires  worked 
this  land,  and  our  fathers  worked  it,  and  we 
worked  it.  It  seems  to  me  it's  earned  a  spell 
from  our  children." 

"  It  is  melancholy,  D.,"  said  Philistina, 
as  they  went  in  the  stable  to  saddle  their 
horses ;  they  never  met  a  liveryman  who 
could  do  it,  which  shows  they  are  not  used 


to  women's  riding  horseback  in  New  Eng 
land. 

"  Yes ;  but  I  envy  their  gift  of  quiet/'  said 
D.,  looking  at  the  long  silent  stretch  of 
granite  walls,  the  flower-  crowned  meadows, 
the  still  white  houses,  every  blind  shut,  the 
little  silent  dogs  that  pass  through  the 
lanes.  The  old  men  were  sitting  in  their 
shirt-sleeves  before  the  kitchen  doors  read 
ing  the  last  month's  Agriculturist,  or  mak 
ing  a  feint  of  reading,  for  they  were  fast 
asleep. 

"  But  not  enough  to  want  to  go  back  to 
it,  I  hope,"  said  Philistina. 

"No,  no,"  said  D.,  hastily;  "we  can't  go 
back.  Even  were  one  well -beloved  risen 
from  the  grave,  he  might  well  hover  out 
side  his  own  threshold,  doubting  his  wel 
come." 

The  road  to  New  Maryborough  leads  over 
high  hill  crests,  from  which  there  are  ever- 
changing  views,  wide  sweeps  to  the  south 
horizon,  outcropping  granite  ridges  and 
bowlders,  then  a  dip  into  deep  woods,  and 
a  farewell  to  a  pretty  little  stream  by  which 
they  rode  two  or  three  miles,  silver  rushes 
of  water  over  moss-covered  logs,  deep  silent 


'52 


pools,  bounded  on  either  side  with  thick 
undergrowths  of  flowers  and  ferns,  and 
straggling  vines  that  put  out  long  arms  to 
ensnare  the  travellers  and  hold  them  pris 
oners  in  the  magic  wood.  And  there  was  a 
bridge  under  which  the  water  shone  like  a 
burnished  shield,  and  a  long  narrow  lane, 
where  there  were  creamy  elder  bushes,  and 
amber  woodbine  turned  into  rubies,  and 
thorn-trees,  heavy  with  coral  beads — they 
might  have  been  jewels,  had  the  riders  only 
stopped  to  look.  And,  as  they  mounted 
the  hill,  tall  scarlet  cardinal-flowers  nodded 
a  welcome,  and  the  fences  were  covered 
with  wild  grape,  that  gave  out  a  sweet, 
sensuous  odor.  In  the  warm,  enervating 
air  it  was  hard  to  believe  this  was  New 
England,  home  of  sturdy  faiths  and  grim 
convictions.  "  If  it  lasted  much  longer," 
said  D.,  musingly,  "  this  riotous  summer, 
one  can  fancy  our  sons  and  daughters  very 
like  the  sons  and  daughters  Horace  dwelt 
among,  though  for  that  matter  the  climate 
of  Italy  has  changed  since  his  day  if  there 
is  any  truth  in  his  description.  Instead  of 
vexing  ourselves  with  dogmas  and  creeds, 
we  would  be  listeners,  pillowed  on  the  green 


turf,  to  orchard  choruses,  and  as  the  poet 
has  it: 

"  '  Ludit  herboso  pecus  omne  campo, 
Festus  in  pratus  vacat  otioso, 
Cum  bove  pagus.' 

"  Does  my  lady  perfect  herself  in  the  mod 
ern  rather  than  the  ancient  tongues  ? 

" '  In  the  long  grass  the  herds  and  flocks  shall  sport  upon 

the  lea, 

And  man  and  beast  in  idleness  the  livelong  day  shall 
be.'" 

"  But  that's  about  December,  D.,"  cried 
Diana,  "and  you've  left  out  a  line." 

"  His  December  corresponded  with  our 
August,"  said  D.,  curtly,  and  falling  back  to 
ride  with  Philistina,  who  had  accustomed 
herself  to  ride  with  Esau  for  company. 

Sandersfield  is  a  melancholy  township, 
though  it  is  pleasantly  placed.  Only  two 
families  spent  last  winter  in  the  centre. 
Somebody  told  them  that  in  '70  it  contained 
700  souls.  But  I  do  not  know  a  more  lovely 
view  than  that  from  the  height  of  the  pla 
teau.  A  wide,  treeless  plain,  with  patches 
of  fire-weed  glowing  in  the  midst  of  the 
green,  clumps  of  scant  "  painter's  brush  " 


gleaming  like  red  torches  in  the  grass ;  the 
natural  slope  in  the  valley,  with  belts  and 
bars  and  flickering  spaces  of  dark  shadows 
playing  over  it.  Then  a  stretch  of  forest, 
and  then  the  Berkshire  Hills  resting  low  in 
the  distance  and  not  defining  the  horizon, 
so  that  one  has  a  sense  of  space  and  a  sense 
of  solitude. 

As  they  rode  along  the  desolate,  deserted 
country,  a  voice  startled  them. 

It  was  a  man  in  a  cabbage-patch,  digging 
diligently ;  but  he  got  up  and  ran  into  the 
road. 

"  Having  a  good  time  ?"  he  called  out, 
cheerily.  Bless  the  fellow  for  his  divine 
gift  of  sympathy ;  he  didn't  seem  to  be 
having  a  good  time,  working  in  that  lone 
some  field  ;  but  he  wanted  us  to  be  hav 
ing  it. 

The  sight  of  his  forlorn  figure  and  kind 
smile  made  them  as  melancholy  as  that  of 
the  fine  old  deserted  house  they  reached 
within  a  mile  or  two  of  New  Marlborough. 
It  was  a  true  colonial  mansion :  wide  hall 
through  the  centre,  a  lovely  porch  with  a 
pointed  arch  and  little  fluted  columns, 
which  were  as  dainty  and  as  graceful  as 


the  church -spire  in  Farmington,  and,  if 
there  is  any  justice  in  this  world,  ought  to 
bring  tears  to  the  eyes  of  the  author  of 
Daisy  Miller,  since  those  eyes  were  un 
able  to  look  at  a  jug  of  beer  and  a  loaf  of 
bread  painted  by  the  younger  Teniers  with 
out  a  burst  of  unmanly  emotion. 

"  There  is  nothing,"  said  D.,  "  so  helpless 
looking  as  a  deserted  house." 

"  Except,"  said  Diana,  sagely,  "  an  empty 
mind." 

That  quotation  from  Horace  had  put 
Diana  in  a  good-humor  with  herself. 

"  But  a  mind  may  well  be  empty  of  self 
ishness  and  egotism,  and  many  another 
evil,"  said  D.  "  There  are  very  few  whole 
truths  ;  most  of  them  have  to  be  modified." 

"  Oh,"  said  Philistina,  "  if  you're  going  to 
quote  old  truisms  and  try  to  pass  them  off 
as  original  conclusions,  I  shall  ride  ahead." 

Ahead  meant  New  Marlborough.  Why 
new?  It  is  a  very,  very  old  town,  and  not 
the  most  literal  of  Anglo  -  Saxon  tourists 
could  take  it  as  a  plagiarism  of  the  Marl- 
borough  across  the  water ;  not  that  it  is  not 
the  prettiest  of  villages,  with  its  green,  its 
church-spire,  and  its  colonial  houses. 


156 

The  horseback  people  slept  well.  The 
next  morning,  booted  and  spurred,  they 
sought  the  stables. 

Esau's  back  had  two  humps  on  it  as  large 
as  hens'  eggs. 

Diana  and  D.  were  for  the  first  time 
united  since  their  literary  spat,  and  they 
travestied  the  immortal  saying  of  the  two 
great  English  leaders  during  the  Franco- 
Prussian  war.  "  Warm  as  are  our  sympa 
thies  with  Germany,"  said  Disraeli  and  the 
Grand  Old  Man,  "  let  us  weep  together  over 
poor  France." 

"  Let  us  weep  together,"  said  these  two, 
sorrowfully,  "  over  poor  Esau." 


XIV 


HE  fate  of  Esau  hung  in  the 
balance  two  days.  By  night 
it  was  reported  in  the  stables 
that  he  was  a  very  sick  horse. 
The  next  day  that  he  had  fall 
en  lame ;  that  afternoon  he  had  turned  his 
face  to  the  wall  like  Elizabeth  in  the  play. 
D.  went  out  with  the  stable  -  man  who  was 
attending  him,  and  when  he  came  back  his 
countenance  was  lightened. 

"  I've  sold  him,"  he  said,  with  an  air  of 
having  accomplished  a  great  feat. 

"  Who  to,  D.  ?"  queried  Phtlistina,  who 
didn't  mind  grammar  when  she  wanted  in 
formation. 

"Oh,  to  the  stable-man,"  said  D.,  in  an 
indifferent  manner.  "  He  says  he's  taking  a 
risk,  but  he's  willing  to." 

Diana  and  Philistina  exchanged  glances. 

"  How  much  did  you  get?"  said  the  latter. 

"  You  don't  expect  a  man  to  sell  a  dying 

horse  for  a  mine  of  money,  do  you  ?"  replied 


158 


D.,  impatiently.  "  Come,  Philistina,  get  into 
the  carriage,  and  let  the  hotel  proprietor 
drive  you  over  to  Stockbridge ;  we'll  ride." 

"Oh,  D.,"  cried  Philistina,  "he's  cheated 
you ;  I  know  he  has,  and  it's  too  bad  !  If  you 
only  were  clever  about  things  like  some 
people— 

"  Philistina,"  said  D.,  "I  have  long  based 
my  opposition  to  equal  rights  on  the  fact 
that  women  are  not  essentially  honest.  You 
know  perfectly  well  in  a  horse  trade  one 
party  has  got  to  do  the  other  party,  and  you 
are  regretting  in  the  liveliest  of  terms  that 
I  didn't  do  that  hostler  instead  of  his  doing 
me.  You'd  be  just  the  same  in  any  political 
matter  or  any  legal  matter.  You'd  be  like 
Sir  Arthur  Helps's  old  woman,  who  expected 
her  shilling  to  buy  twice  as  much  as  other 
people's  shillings  because  it  was  hers.  What 
you  wanted  would  in  your  eyes  be  right,  and 
you'd  wink  at  the  immorality  if  you  discov 
ered  any,  because  you  couldn't  believe  any 
thing  that  could  benefit  the  side  you  had 
taken  could  be  very  bad." 

"  Nonsense,"  said  Philistina,  "  pecuniary 
honesty  is  peculiar  to  women,  though  I 
agree  with  M.  Renan :  it  is  the  most  bour- 


geots  of  all  the  virtues,  and  one  supposed  to 
require  the  least  self-repression.  Besides,  if 
somebody  has  to  be  done  in  a  horse  trade, 
why  let  that  stable-man  take  the  sin  on  his 
conscience  ?  You  look  much  more  able  to 
bear  it."  . 

"  It  is  queer,"  said  D.,  taking  no  notice, 
"that  association  with  so  noble  an  animal 
as  the  horse  seems  to  affect  the  character  of 
men  to  their  detriment.  You  would  think 
that  such  an  animal  would  be  excellent  com 
pany ;  but  it  is  not  true.  Liverymen,  stable 
men,  jockeys — they  are  all  of  a  sort.  They 
look  you  in  the  face  and  sweetly  lie  you  out 
of  your  choicest  steed.  After  this  journey 
1  have  done  with  horses.  I  have  found  my 
temptation,  thank  Heaven,  in  time !" 

In  almost  any  other  period  of  American 
history  it  would  seem  a  pity  to  end  this 
record  of  a  journey  in  humiliation  instead 
of  triumph.  Twenty  years  ago,  perhaps,  the 
most  conscientious  of  Philistinas  would 
have  been  pardoned  if  she  had,  like  the  sun, 
gone  down  in  the  golden  glow  of  a  recov 
ered  Esau,  herself  a  sort  of  a  lady  centaur 
on  his  back,  loping  in  perfect  harmony 
together  over  the  Berkshire  hills.  But 


:6o 


the  spirit  of  the  age  demands  not  only  that 
this  record  be  faithful  to  the  eternal  verities, 
but  that  it  be  as  pessimistic  a  piece  of  lit 
erature  as  the  sad,  sad  public  loves.  Phil- 
istina  was  too  conscious  of  that  exacting 
audience  to  let  her  saddle  experiences  ter 
minate  in  commonplace  success  and  good- 
cheer.  She  did  not,  it  is  true,  carry  the 
doctrine  of  destructiveness  so  far  as  to 
subject  herself  to  a  last  interview  with 
Esau  ;  but  the  calm  stoicism  with  which 
she  changed  her  riding-habit  for  a  blue 
flannel  skirt  and  blouse  waist,  a  costume 
which  was  repeated  with  some  uniformity 
by  other  travellers  last  summer,  and  turned 
her  face  in  another  manner  of  journeying 
towards  Stockbridge,  was  not  without  its 
pathetic  aspect.  This  simple  submission  to 
the  whirlwind  of  fate,  and  acquiescence  in 
the  settled  belief  that  men  are  merely  atoms 
blown  in  its  path,  evinced  an  acquaintance 
with  modern  fiction  that  spoke  well  for  her 
stern  determination  to  read  novels,  not  for 
their  plot,  but  their  moral  lesson. 

Diana  and  D.,  for  a  time  at  least,  went  on 
without  her ;  and  if  she  was  haunted  with  a 
vision  of  Esau  prancing  out  of  the  stable 


with  his  altruistic  purchaser  on  his  back  as 
soon  as  she  had  got  well  out  of  New  Marl- 
borough,  let  us  hope  she  was  willing  to  let 
her  experience  prove  that  life  is  very  sad 
and  very  disappointing,  and  it  becomes  us 
to  verify  the  assertions  of  the  greatest  liv 
ing  authors  —  that  nothing  is  really  worth 
while. 


THE  END 


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